The Courtship of Maura Isles
by snuffnyc
Summary: Jane hops the express train to true love, while Maura's stuck on the local making all stops.
1. Chapter 1

**The Courtship of Maura Isles**

**Notes: Just wanted to try something a little different, something a little more in line with what I could imagine TNT actually pursuing (if they got their heads out of their collective asses)... I've tried to write Jane here as I believe she COULD be construed on the show - given what we've seen of her and Casey, etc. I think it's not too much of a stretch to think she might be a little smitten kitten w/ Doctor Isles while still hellbent on having something "normal" with Casey.**

**Thanks in advance for reading.**

**Chapter 1 - Like an Old Married Couple... and That's Part of the Problem**

* * *

Jane has no idea why she ordered linguini and clam sauce on a date.

No, that's not entirely true. She has _some_ idea. It's delicious, for starters. Especially here at Mario's, where they don't cheap out and chop up the clams like some other places do. But therein lies the second problem- the first being that linguini is impossible to eat without sucking and slurping and flinging it all over.

Have you ever looked at a clam? Really looked at one?

They're like little vaginas, and that's not a word Jane Rizzoli throws around lightly. She's _sure_ she can feel Casey and Dennis staring at the mountain of lady parts heaped atop the strands of pasta she's too nervous to eat. Maura, meanwhile, seems blissfully unaware of any problems her friend is having, and is busy ordering another bottle of wine.

"Excellent choice, Maura," Dennis coos, and Jane smiles tightly at Casey because she knows he's as unimpressed as she is. After their last double date, Casey mentioned something about finding Dennis "smarmy" and she fell in love with him all over again.

That lasted about five minutes.

Not for lack of trying. Jane committed to Casey when he came to her, hat in hand, after his surgery and physical therapy. He still walked with a limp but he was kind and caring and made her laugh whenever she wasn't thoroughly depressed about her "situation." Which is what she'd taken to calling it, her slightly more-than-platonic love for her best friend. A situation could be remedied. A situation was temporary.

Kind of like her attraction to Casey.

She slaps herself in the face and Casey notices, laughing a little.

"You alright, soldier?"

She hated when he called her that.

"Fine," she smiles again. "Just tired, I guess."

"You had a long day," he offers sympathetically, his hand on her knee under the table.

Dennis sets his fork down and pipes up. "So much of exhaustion is all the mind. Our bodies are capable of so much more than we think. I find that if I tell myself, 'I'm awake, alert, and energized," it comes true. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy."

Jane can't hide her disdain. Her mouth freezes, in the midst of forming words she _knows_ will not be polite.

"In Jane's case," Maura jumps in. To the rescue. "She may be legitimately fatigued. We received a call for a body last night, and I don't think she's been home since then?"

Jane nods. "S'why I'm wearing this ridiculous outfit."

Maura beams. "It's mine. I had it in the closet of my office. Isn't it stunning?"

Casey and Dennis both agree, and Jane writhes under their scrutiny.

"If you'll excuse me," Maura stands up, smoothing her dress. "I need to use the restroom. Jane?"

Normally Jane would wail about how it's stupid, how she doesn't have to go and _what is it with women anyway_? But Maura's given her an opening, and she's gonna take it.

"Gentlemen," Jane slides out of her chair as gracefully as she can manage, considering the dangerously high slit in the dress Maura gave her to wear.

In the bathroom, Maura heads straight for the stall but that doesn't stop her from prattling on.

"I'm so glad you two decided to join us. I know this isn't your cup of tea."

"Ah," Jane squints in the mirror. When did that wrinkle get there? "You know, once you ruled it a natural all we had to do was notify. Handle the paperwork. I might've gotten in a nap if you'd hurried it along, though."

"I never hurry."

"I know," Jane groans. After a beat, "Take now, for instance. What in God's name are you doing in there?"

The stall door flies open, and Maura has her hand inside the top of her dress.

"Peeing in this thing is a nightmare," she giggles. "If I shimmy it _up_ my thighs..."

Maura continues to talk but Jane's ears fill with a watery mush as she watches Maura adjusting her bra and breasts under the fabric.

"...Then of course if I unzip it, I can't get it all the way up without help."

She says this very plainly, with no further instruction or explanation except to turn around and present her back to Jane.

"Well?" Maura shakes her shoulders.

"Uh," Jane's hands hang in the air, angry scars against the electric blue of Maura's dress. "Oh-kay..."

She zips it up tight, trying not to gaze over Maura's shoulder at the mounds of flesh peeking out.

"I'm planning something _extra special_ for Dennis tonight," Maura spins around, winking at Jane. "How about you? Are things with Casey..." she seems to pick her words out off the ceiling. "On the up-and-up?"

Jane makes a face. "Ugh, Maura!"

"What?" She washes her hands and dabs at her makeup. "As your best friend, I'm always concerned for your well-being. If you two haven't shared an orgasm yet-"

"Oh my god," Jane shoves her away from the sink, towards the door. "We're not having this conversation."

"You're _so modest_ it's painful, Jane."

"Yeah well, you're a little bit of a whore." Hard as it is to admit, Jane enjoys teasing Maura about her sexual exploits. She half hates hearing about them, then half loves it. Imagining Maura naked, satisfied...

"I'm going to let him come in my mouth tonight," Maura whispers seductively, practically into _Jane's_ mouth, and she recoils.

"Oh for Christ's sake..."

On second thought, maybe it's better not hearing about it at all.

* * *

Casey's arm around her feels warm. Comforting. Jane tries to want it, to want it in the right way, to do more than accept the gesture because it's a cool night and she didn't have a jacket to wear. Never one to give less than her all, she leans into his embrace, brushing her lips against his neck.

"This is nice."

"It is," he agrees, playing with her hand that's resting on his chest as they walk. "You get enough to eat? You barely touched your entree."

Jane doesn't have to hide from Casey. Doesn't have to pretend, and she's pretty sure she read somewhere that that's _huge_. It's what women want, isn't it? It's what they crave. Someone who accepts them.

"I couldn't figure out how to eat it without looking like Godzilla."

He laughs, not surprised in the least.

"You wanna stop and get some Chinese? Eat it in bed, watch Sportscenter?""

It sounded great. It really did. But she had to refuse.

"I'm so tired, Case. And tomorrow-"

"Ah, that's right," he snaps his finger. "I completely forgot you were out all last night. Forget I said anything. Let's just get you home, tuck you in and start fresh in the morning."

He was always so sweet. She stops them in the middle of the sidewalk and turns to face him. His eyes are soft and his five o'clock shadow gives him a rumpled, endearing quality that Jane cannot deny.

She leans in to kiss him on the lips, and at first it's good. Standard for them, she figures. He gives and lets her take, and she's more than a tad jealous of the taste of lasagna lingering in his mouth. Laughing playfully, she pulls back and drops a peck on his nose and chin.

Everything feels normal, until Casey sighs.

"When are you going to tell her?"

Jane's watching the concrete beneath her feet, feeling unsteady in Maura's too-tight heels.

"Huh?"

"When are you going to tell her? Tell Maura?"

She's eyeing Casey now as they walk, looking for something in his face to explain what in the hell he's talking about. But his eyes are fixed off in the distance and his lips are pressed into a thin line, so there's nothing to hint one way or the other.

"Tell her what?"

He stops, and lets his arm drop from around her shoulder. The absence of his touch is immediate, and Jane shivers as the wind rustles through the trees.

"That you're in love with her?"

He says it so matter of factly, Jane stumbles. Literally stumbles backwards like she's just been hit by a bus. Surely he can't be serious.

"What are you talking about?" she furrows her brow, trying to convey more confusion than she knows her tone allows. She's aware she sounds guilty.

"I see the way you look at her, Jane. You... you're in awe of her."

"I am not."

He raises his eyebrow like a father would to a child.

"Don't get me wrong. I think you love me. But not the same way. Maybe it's time we just put it out in the open."

She's astonished, wobbling on what feels like stilts, wanting to rewind time. Maybe if she leaned into him more fully, kissed his neck with more passion. Let him control the kiss instead of always dictating things.

But in his eyes, she can see that she could never rewind far enough. It's not today, tonight, this date. Casey's known, and there's more.

"I'm not mad," he continues, motioning for them to resume walking. Jane manages but it's difficult. "In a way, it helped me relax. Knowing that you weren't really ready to give yourself to me, completely. Because I don't think I was ready either. I thought I was in love..."

"And now you've gotten to know me better and changed your mind?" Jane squeaks, not having any right to be offended but doing it anyway.

He shakes his head. "No, Janie, don't take it that way. It's more like I've gotten to know _myself_. Being deployed in a war zone, then coming home with my injuries... it's not exactly like I've had a ton of time to reflect."

Jane wasn't sure why, but she was crying. Why was she crying? She tries to wipe away the tears but they just keep coming.

"I love you, Casey..."

"You do. And I love you. I love watching you get dressed in the morning, banging into everything."

She smiles. "I'm not a morning person."

"I know. But... it's obvious, Jane. It's obvious that you love Maura more than you love me. More than you love _anything_, if I had to guess."

And that's what the tears were about. Casey was putting words to a feeling Jane dared not speak of, dared not lay out, in specific detail, for fear of making it real.

"I don't know. I don't know if you're right or wrong." Jane balls her fists in front of her. "I don't want to lose you."

"I don't know that we have much of a choice. It's easy, with you. Isn't it?"

"It is!" Jane sobs. "We have a nice time together, don't we?"

Casey stops again, his lips curled into a sad smile.

"Listen to yourself. We have a _nice time_ together?"

"Oh god, you're right," Jane says before she can stop herself. "That does sound kind of... uninspiring, doesn't it?"

He shrugs. "Let's get you home."

"And then what?"

The question is more rhetorical than anything else. There's no answer, certainly not one Casey can provide. He knows her dirty secret, and he doesn't hate her. Somehow, though, that makes things worse. At least if he hated her, she could concentrate on fixing their friendship instead of wondering what the hell to do about her feelings for Maura.

"God, is it obvious? I mean, really?" She gives in, wondering.

He nudges her with his shoulder. "Not to her. She's a bit oblivious, wouldn't you say?"

Jane snorts. "To a lot of things."

"Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you then, Jane Rizzoli."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Jane looks suspiciously at the fancy gift bag on her desk, twirling one of the curled ribbons around her finger.

"What is this?"

Maura puts her hand over her heart. "It's just a little something. To help you feel better. About your breakup with Casey."

"Maura, I told you," she reaches into the bag anyway, curiosity getting the best of her. "I'm not upset. He's not upset. It was mutual and totally… fine. We're both fine."

Now Maura looks suspicious, and Jane can't for the life of her figure out how her friend has survived this long. She really has no read on the situation whatsoever. Even Jane's orbital spatulas must not be giving her away. Maura honestly thinks Jane is crushed, and no matter what relieved expression Jane contorts her face into, there's just no telling her.

"Dark circles under your eyes, Jane. You've clearly lost sleep over it."

No, Jane thinks, I've lost sleep over the fact that I'm in love with you and don't have the foggiest idea what to do about it. But okay.

"There was a Cagney and Lacey marathon on last night."

Maura brushes off that admittedly lame excuse. "You haven't joined me for a run in a week."

Eh. Don't wanna see you in that skin-tight top first thing in the morning. So sue me.

Jane shrugs. Points beneath her desk. "My leg hurts."

"Your _leg hurts_? More like your heart hurts. Come on, open it."

She looks at the wrapped box that was in the bag.

"Hey, isn't the point of these bags so that you don't have to wrap whatever's inside?" Jane genuinely wants to know. It's possible she's been using them wrong all this time.

Maura puts her hands on her hips, frustrated.

"Will you just open it? I timed my arrival in the bullpen to coordinate with Korsak and Frost's lunch downstairs." She looks around, even though nobody's within thirty feet of them. "I know how much you despise unwanted attention."

Jane tries to remember a time when Maura's thoughtfulness, her passion and her loyalty, didn't make her heart skip a beat. She supposes it's always been there, that feeling she avoids making eye contact with in the mirror every morning, and she tamps down the desire to bang her head well and good against the desk.

Tearing through the paper, Jane turns the box right side up in her hands, and flips it open.

"Whoa, Maura…"

The watch is silver with a royal blue face, and a logo Jane recognizes. She leans in and squints to make sure, and then suddenly her eyes go wide again.

"Holy crap, Maura. You didn't have to do that."

But the watch is beautiful, and more than that it's exactly the _kind_ of watch Jane would want. Not as skinny and dainty as the ladies' watches she always finds at the Macy's counter, but not huge and obnoxious like the men's ones she can afford. Jane can't help but undo the clasp and try it on.

"It looks great on you," Maura whispers. "I figured…" she looks off whimsically, "_time heals all wounds_. So I bought you some."

"What?" Jane smiles up at her. "Time? You bought me time?"

Maura beams back. "In a manner of speaking."

Jane wants to get lost in the moment, to bask in the glow of Maura's affections, but she clears her throat instead.

"I, um," she looks down at the watch once more. It looks damn good. "I love it, Maur, but I swear. I'm not heartbroken. It would be disingenuous of me to accept it."

The doctor taps her foot on the floor. Lightly- not a stamp, merely a tap.

"Jane Clementine Rizzoli…"

"Don't," Jane warns her with a stern finger. "Don't even."

"Just take it. It'll break _my_ heart if you don't."

Jane runs the tip of her finger around the bezel, then holds her wrist out, away from her body, to survey it once more.

"It does look sharp…"

"It looks perfect," Maura leans in and brings her face cheek-to-cheek with Jane's. She's admiring the watch but Jane's busy admiring Maura from the corner of her eye. "And all you have to do in return is have dinner with me tonight. The Robber," she stands up, satisfied. "Burgers, and beers, and you know… that kinda thing."

Her voice always drops a few octaves when she's doing her "Jane impression." Oddly, Maura's impression of Jane sounds a lot like her impression of Korsak. And Frost. And the bartender at every dive they've ever visited. Jane reminds herself not to take offense.

"Is this more unnecessary therapy for a breakup that I ain't even mad about?"

Maura looks appalled, but she does it so well. Jane wants to pinch her damn cheeks, as ridiculous as that sounds.

"Ain't? My god, Jane. Have I taught you nothing?"

* * *

"So somebody moved the body. I could've told you that."

"But there's more. On one side is the 3-D rendering of the crime scene, and on the other, the entry wound of the fatal shot." Maura hands Jane her iPad and of course Jane spins it around, fighting with the tablet's tendency to go landscape when she wants portrait mode, and vice versa.

"This freakin' thing hates me."

"Here," Maura looks exasperated, pushing Jane's hands with her own. "You have to-"

"_Whaaaat_ do you want from me, technology?" she shakes the thing like an Etch-a-Sketch, knowing full well that won't help but taking some small measure of delight in asserting her human strength over the stupid thing. "Steve Jobs is mocking me from the grave."

"Let me," Maura gets up from her side the booth and, before Jane can protest, slides in next to her. "There. See. Right there."

Maura taps her finger on the screen, trying to direct Jane's attention to the bullet wound she's photographed, but instead her touch calls up another screen.

"Oh for Pete's sake…" the doctor mutters.

Warm body against warm body, Jane can't take any more.

"Just forget this thing. We came here to relax anyway. No more work."

She figures that'll be the end of it, that Maura will return to her side of the booth now that there's no reason to stay, but she doesn't. No, she lingers there, even drags her beer from across the table and takes a long, languid sip. Jane's watching her, and she notices.

"What? I do enjoy this microbrew. I'm so glad it's on tap."

"I see."

When the waitress brings their food, she gives them a peculiar look but doesn't say anything. Just plops the plates down in front of them and floats away, and Jane's left to fend for herself.

"You gotta move over. I'm lefty."

Maura makes a face. "You're on the inside of the booth. I'm on the outside. This is the ideal setting for people with opposing dexterities. You wouldn't want _me_ on the inside and you on the outside, because our elbows would-"

"Actually I think you sitting _across_ from me would be the ideal scenario."

In case Maura is, you know, an _idiot_, Jane points with her finger to the opposite bench seat.

But Maura's not an idiot, she's a woman with feelings, and her face crumples.

"I see."

Suddenly it's like someone just set off the fire alarm in the building, only Jane's the only one who can hear it. Her ears are ringing, the tips red hot. In her mind's eye flashes the image of a kamikaze jet fighter, spiraling down toward the Earth.

"No no no," Jane grabs her arm at the last second, spilling some fries off her plate along the way. "I was just kidding."

Maura stops. "No, you weren't."

She's not gonna win this argument, so Jane puts on her softest, most innocent face.

"I'm just cranky. Stay. Sit next to me."

"Only if you'll tell me how it really went with Casey. I feel so out of the loop, Jane."

In reality, Maura's already started undoing the bun to her turkey burger, preparing to slather it with mustard. So she's not going anywhere regardless of what Jane says or doesn't say. Still, she owes her one.

"I'm dead serious," Jane takes an onion ring from her plate and pops it in her mouth. "We're both okay with it. Things were nice and easy between us, but there wasn't any spark."

"Never?" Maura looks briefly at her before returning to the burger. "I know when he first came back and didn't contact you, you were hurt."

Jane nods. "Yeah, but it was more like the anticipation of us being together than… us really being together. Once that happened, it was kinda…"

"Blah?" Maura's bottom lip sags into a dissatisfied expression.

"Yeah, _blah_. I'm not suggesting I wanna start swinging from the chandeliers but a little excitement wouldn't hurt."

Maura nods too, in her very thoughtful, introspective way, and waits a beat before replying.

"You never did answer my question about you two sleeping together."

Half the tomato and lettuce shoots out from the back of Jane's burger. She barely swallows before giving Maura the crazy eye.

"It always comes back to sex with you, doesn't it?"

She laughs, and shrugs. "Sex is important."

It's almost painful for Jane to think about. Sex _is_ important, especially to Maura. And Jane's just getting her mind around the emotional content of her feelings for her friend. Whatever sexual component there is, Jane is absolutely, one hundred thousand percent positive she is not ready to explore it. It scares the shit out of her.

"Yes, we did it. And it was okay. His… thing… works. That's not why we broke up."

"Well that's a relief," Maura literally wipes at her brow. Literally. Good to know she was totally sweatin' it on behalf of Jane's vag. A true friend. "How big is it?"

"Maura!" Jane drops the burger onto the plate. "Do I go around asking _you_ these private questions?"

She considers it. "No. But I wish you would!"

Jane laughs, happy to escape the question at hand. For the record, Casey's _business_ was about as average and uninspiring as their love affair. Nothing to gawk at, but not worthy of derision either.

"I don't have to ask, you make it abundantly clear," Jane dramatically licks the ketchup off her finger. "_Oh, ooh-la-la, Dennis is the most amazing lover. I can't even contain myself!_"

Maura pinches her on the arm. "Shows how much you know. Since our dinner date when I-"

"Don't say it again."

"-_finished him off_-"

Jane gags.

"- he's actually been less than impressive. It's like he's gotten lazy, and just now expects the whole enchilada as a matter of course."

Jane looks off into the distance. Did that just happen?

"I can never eat an enchilada again. Thank you for that."

Maura broods over her burger and murmurs half to herself. "Meanwhile, my enchilada is noticeably neglected."

As grossed out as she is, Jane can't stop laughing at that one. Sure, as her friend, Jane wants to see Maura happy, but she may be taking the tiniest bit of joy in learning that Dennis is not perfect beyond words.

Then she figures out what Maura really means.

A wet bite falls from her lips onto the plate.

"He doesn't…"

"Oh he does," Maura is quick to correct. What a relief. "But it's never been the most efficient expedition ever. Now he just gives up. What can I say, I rarely orgasm with intercourse. And with oral sex, it takes me some time to-"

"Got the picture. TMI."

Finally, something makes Maura blush. "I'm more tortoise than hare, if you catch my drift."

Jane slaps at the air and closes her fist around nothing. "Drift caught. What about another beer?"

She waves to the waitress who smiles back at her and who is also fairly good at drift-capturing. She disappears behind the bar and doesn't return to their table until she has a frosty beer in each hand.

"These are on me, ladies." She smiles even more broadly, and Jane ducks her chin back, expecting something but what? "I hope it's not rude for me to say."

"Rude for you to say what?" Jane snips. Maura calms her with a hand to her forearm.

The waitress stumbles. "Just that… You two have been coming here for years. I kinda wondered if you would… you know… and I'm glad to see the ol' bartender's intuition hasn't completely left me!"

"How's that now?" Jane's mouth is hanging open. Any second now, Maura is gonna reach up and shut it for her.

"You know, get together. It's cute. You two make a beautiful couple."

With that she shuffles off, and why wouldn't she? Maura didn't make any move to disprove her assumption, and Jane was too dumbfounded to talk.

Maura does giggle though. "Hear that? We make a cute couple."

"Yeah…" Jane drifts.

Sensing her discomfort, Maura rubs Jane's knee beneath the table.

Not really helping.

"It's an easy mistake to make, Jane. We obviously exude love for one another. You're my best friend. Anyone can see it."

Jane wants to ask Maura _what_ exactly everyone sees. What did Casey see, and what does Jane see, what has she always seen, even through the most tightly-closed lids?

Instead she just gives in, content to have her friend by her side, at peace if somewhat oblivious.

"Spare some of that cole slaw, lovemuffin?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Had This Been a Real Emergency, Oxygen Masks Would've Descended From the Ceiling**

* * *

"Body in an artist's loft, huh?" Jane surveys the surroundings, noting the huge windows and the exposed air ducts crisscrossing the ceiling of the expansive room. "It's like Maura's _dream _in here."

Frost wrinkles his nose. "You mean besides the thirty foot trail of blood and the sliced-up corpse."

Jane pauses, her finger in the air. "Do I? Dunno, you know Maura's quirky like that."

He smiles and shakes his head. "Good point."

She scans the room while the uniforms finish clearing out. They're careful to walk only in the designated areas, and Jane nods her approval. She and Frost run a tight ship, and with the help of the Chief Medical Examiner and all the power she wields, it's been years since they've had to scold a wayward patrolman for stomping on a blood spatter or crushing a shell casing.

The gasp behind her could only be Maura Isles, and Jane smiles privately before turning to face her.

"I _know_," Jane slides in beside her smoothly. "And just think, it'll be on the market soon. Homeowner just got foreclosed on with a machete."

Maura brings a hand to her mouth before realizing she's covered it in latex, and draws it away with a scowl.

"It's exquisite. I'll even indulge your conjecture and raise you one. There's no way those injuries were caused by a machete."

Jane looks at Frost, who shrugs.

"You haven't even looked at the body yet! You're too busy having a mid-century modern boner over the loft."

Maura's eyes widen and narrow until a small smile spreads across her face. She breathes dramatically.

"Where do I start? One," she counts off with her fingers, "I can see the wound tracks from here. Far too narrow for a machete. Two, if anything's got me aroused it's your surprising knowledge of design aesthetic. And three..."

Frost silently mouths the word Jane: "_Aroused?_"

"And three," she claps her hands together, "I should really buy it, shouldn't I?"

The look of childlike glee on Maura's face, in stark contrast to the bloody mess they're standing in, makes Jane lightheaded. She's serious, stone serious, and would buy the loft the moment it became available if Jane agreed to the suggestion. She shakes her entire body in refusal.

"No, Maura, I was joking!"

The doctor's face falls, but in a second she's back to her bubbly self. Jane imagines it's easy to get over losing million dollar spaces when you can comfort yourself by buying a yacht. Or a frozen smoothie franchise. Or whatever it is Maura fancies at that instant.

"Well, anyway." She sidesteps a disrupted coffee table and squats down near the body. "Good morning, Detective Frost. I love those shoes."

He looks down at his feet, turning his knees out as he does so. Jane just watches, stifling a laugh that's going to come out sooner or later.

"Oh, don't do that," Maura's barely watching him, but waves her hand in his direction. "Supination puts all your body weight on the anterior of the foot."

They both stare at her in protracted silence. Finally she looks up.

"Although the more common ankle injury is from pronation," she turns her hands over, thumbs down. Jane and Frost continue their journey into blankness. "Supination," she cups her hands inward. "Like you're holding a bowl of _soup_."

There it goes. Jane cackles like a schoolyard bully, and Maura admonishes her with a look.

"Uh, you know what?" Frost adjusts his tie, and lets his slacks fall loose down over his shoes. "Now I'm a little aroused."

"Just a trick I used to remember the difference in med school."

Maura moves the body slightly, heaving some with the odd angle- and her impractical heels- and both Jane and Frost kneel down to help her. They practically bump heads.

"No worries, Frost. I got this," Jane eyes him. "Don't want you ruining your fancy Italian shoes."

He grumbles but doesn't offer a retort.

"From the spray and the trail," he wanders away, "I'd say she was killed over here and dragged."

Jane leans into Maura, their bodies close. "Thank you, Captain Obvious," she whispers.

Maura smiles, her shoulders turning in. Up close, the doctor smells citrusy and fresh. Even the metallic scent of the blood can't compete.

"Better?" Jane asks, positioning the body so that Maura can more closely examine the wounds.

"Yes, thank you, Detective," Maura winks at her, and Jane's face goes red. She stands up to avoid further scrutiny.

"You alright there, Jane?" Frost and his goddamn eagle eyes don't miss a thing, and Jane feels the heat at her cheeks amplify a thousand times. "Have your Wheaties this morning?"

"I'm fine. You wanna come take a closer look? I think there's a flap of flesh where the-"

He holds up a hand. "That's hitting below the belt. Even for you."

She smirks. "Ain't much down there, from what I've heard."

"Don't get bitchy with me just because your boyfriend dumped your bony ass."

Jane puts her hands on her hips. "You know who _does _like my bony ass? Your mom."

He laughs, flashing both rows of his flawlessly white teeth.

"Oh!" Maura interjects excitedly. "_Your mama _jokes. I've heard of these. Often used as playful banter between friends, devoid of any real intention to hurt or offend the other party."

Jane feels the flare of her nostrils. "Um, sorta?"

"I heard one once," Maura looks back at the body, pushing aside a strand of blood-soaked hair. "Your mama's so old, she's got Jesus's beeper number."

Frost squares his shoulders and guffaws. Clearly he's never heard that one before.

"Although that doesn't make much sense, considering the accepted chronology of his life, and-"

"We get it, Maura. Jesus didn't carry a beeper because it wouldn't fit on his toga."

"Ancient Rome," she muttered.

Jane laughs now too, fully enjoying the way the morning is progressing. Dead lady aside.

"Kimono."

Maura sighs in exaggerated annoyance. "Japanese."

"Birkenstocks?"

"German. Gained enormous popularity in the early 1990s, although they were for sale decades before that."

Jane snaps her gloves off. "Is there anything you don't know?"

Maura looks up at her with a dangerous squint. "Not really, no."

Frost clears his throat, suddenly the odd man out. "You two, ah, want some time alone? I can... you know..." He shoves his thumb in the direction of the steel fire door.

Jane shakes her head. "I just like to get Maura's goat."

Without a break in her measurements of the area surrounding the body, Maura offers her subtle rejoinder.

"Would you like me to explain the origin of that phrase, Detective? Or shall I just have the techs move the body and we can take this party to the morgue?"

Jane clenches her teeth. Look who got whose goat.

Frost rolls his eyes, but then winks at Jane.

"Damn, ladies. Get a room."

* * *

"I'm somewhat surprised he hasn't called, is all I'm saying."

Jane watches Maura over the rim of her wine glass, her hair shimmering in the candelight.

"Somewhat surprised? So wait," Jane taps the other woman with her socked foot, the couch big enough for the two of them to spread out, albeit with a little lower leg grazing going on. "You're backtracking on your earlier statement?"

"What earlier statement?" Maura has the best '_I have no idea what you're talking about! _face. Jane grins like an idiot.

"How much wine have you had? Five minutes ago you said that was the beauty of your relationship with Dennis. That it was casual and fun and you trusted each other."

"I do trust him!" Maura's hand fell over her heart, like it always did when she was saying something she desperately needed Jane to accept, so that she could too.

"So he travels a lot for his crackpot motivational speaker gig," Jane rolls her eyes but stops short of really digging in. "Maybe he's just tired and busy. I think you're worrying for nothing."

"I'm not worrying."

"Right," Jane nods once for effect. "You're somewhat surprised. But not worrying. That'd be ridiculous."

"I really hate you."

"I despise you equally, my friend." Jane slides her feet off the couch and her knees crack. "Another _goblet _of wine?"

Maura hoists the empty glass aloft. "Please."

In Maura's kitchen, Jane both loathes and admires her friend's neatness. Even inside the refrigerator, where at Jane's place there are relish jars that predate the Internet, everything is in perfect order. The juice- that Maura freshly squeezed this morning, according to Angela- is presented beautifully in a tall glass carafe. The eggs aren't relegated to suffering in some god awful paper carton; they're nestled in an adorable wire basket. Just in case Better Homes and Gardens shows up unannounced to shoot a cover spread inside her Sub-Zero.

Feeling a pang of hunger, Jane pulls out an unmarked piece of plasticware and pops it open. If she were home, whatever was inside might've jumped back out at her and ran out the front door. But here in Maura's elegant but comfortable home, two pieces of grilled chicken sit neatly atop a bed of that fancy rice pilaf Jane will never admit to loving because it's so healthy and contains lentils. She scowls at it even now, in defiance.

"I'm going to eat you."

"Huh?" Maura's head lolls over the back of the couch, the expanse of her neck tempting Jane with its soft smoothness.

"I was just talking to the food." Jane points dumbly down at the plate.

"Oh. Of course," Maura giggles and sits back upright, relieving Jane of the burden of having to stare into her green eyes any longer.

"Thank god," she whispers, and luckily Maura either doesn't hear her, or assumes she's once again talking to the late-night meal. "I'll be right over with your wine."

"You know what," Maura hops up from the couch, dropping the blanket along the way, and Jane's eyes immediately find more bare flesh, this time her muscular legs. "Let me heat that for you. You'll just throw it in the microwave and the chicken will get rubbery."

Before she can stop her, Maura's taken the plate from her hands and is shuffling it into the oven in a casserole dish.

"It'll just be a minute," Maura purrs preemptively, knowing Jane is about to complain. "I can rinse some greens for you too, if you'd like?"

It's 11 at night and Maura's throwing together leftovers that would outrank any freshly cooked meal Jane's ever made. At least any without her mother's help. Jane leans against the counter and pours them each more wine, politely declining the salad that Maura is already busy preparing. Well, let her go then.

The sight of her working in the kitchen, barefoot and hair down in waves around her face, strikes Jane in the most awkward of places. She feels flush with something other than emotion, something much less innocent and far more dangerous. Maura is, Jane realizes, the quintessential modern woman. She's blisteringly intelligent, talented, kind, and somehow able to make barley palatable. All while making each look so easy.

Unfortunately though, the stereotype doesn't end there. Maura is also dumber than a box of rocks when it comes to her love life. Jane suddenly can't believe it, that Maura has cooked and cleaned and _blown _this guy and he can't return a fucking phone call. She swallows a very large gulp of wine.

"Don't bother trying to catch up," Maura stops in front of her, breasts invading Jane's space. Her breath is wispy and light. "I've inadvertently gotten quite intoxicated."

The lazy smile that crosses her lips is very inviting, but Jane could never dream of making a move on her friend while she was drunk. It literally makes her skin crawl, the thought of it, and she backs away. The oven bell rings, and Jane looks at it, astonished.

"No way."

"It's a convection oven, Jane," Maura's words slur a tiny bit, and Jane moves to back her up near the stove, just in case. "I'll explain how it works tomorrow."

Jane laughs. "Tomorrow, huh? Too complicated for now?"

Maura nods, sliding the piping hot food onto a clean plate. Her hands return to the salad she's been fixing, and Jane reaches in to pluck off a tomato.

"Mm," she moans, at first in anticipation of the ripe fruit, then at the feel of Maura's skin against hers. Her hands have somehow stalled, entangled with Maura's, in the large wooden bowl. "What? No stealing?"

"No. Stealing." Maura enunciates carefully, tossing the salad as though Jane's hands weren't there. "Work with me here."

There's only one way to do this right, and that means that Jane has to move one hand around Maura's body, and stand directly behind her. The thought is daunting, but she does it. Then she rejoins their hands, the cool, damp lettuce a welcome distraction.

Jane can see right over Maura's head. She's tall enough, but it's so artificial. To fit more naturally, Jane lowers her head to one side, brushing her cheek against Maura's hair. Together they work the salad over more than is entirely necessary. It's erotic, but harmless enough that they could peel away at any moment and never think of it again.

Maura's body sags into Jane's, and her breathing deepens. It's rife with tension, this thinly-veiled foreplay, but Jane can't be sure it's not just a product of Maura's lowered inhibitions coupled with her insecurities about Dennis. And that stops her.

"That chicken's getting cold," she whispers the words into Maura's ear with a gentleness Jane normally reserves for bedroom companions. She can't help it. "Thanks."

Shaking off her hands in the sink, Jane grabs the plate and accepts the salad Maura heaps onto it. Then she sits down at the counter and eats in silence while Maura works at that freshly topped off wine. Eventually, though, she slides the glass towards Jane.

"I can't. I've got Zumba tomorrow."

Jane crunches through a spicy radish. "Right. Zumba. I've got Sleep-ba."

Maura wrinkles her nose. "You're not coming?"

"I never come to anything dance-y."

"Huh." Maura offers noncommittally. "You'll stay, won't you?"

Jane starts to ramble through an excuse, but Maura shakes her head petulantly.

"No. Stay. You can... _sleep-ba_... all you want."

"Maura," Jane reasons, "I always feel like a jerk, sleeping in your guest bed until noon. At least when I'm at home I can't hear you, all awake and being productive and thereby unconsciously guilting me."

"I'll be as quiet as church mouse," Maura feigns tiptoeing around the center island. "And besides, who said anything about the guest room? I miss someone sleeping next to me who doesn't snore."

Jane's heart lurches, and she gives up immediately. On the spot. There is absolutely no way she can refuse Maura once she's invited her into her bed. But in the interest of keeping her suspicions at bay, Jane hedges.

"But..."

"No buts," Maura pouts, her lower lip appearing far more prominent than it actually is. "Everyone already assumes we're sleeping together. We may as well sleep together!"

Drunk Maura has a tendency to lose control of the volume of her voice, and the tail end of that statement rattles the dishes in the hutch.

"Sleep together?" Jane's voice, on the other hand, has been reduced to a squeak.

"Sleep together," Maura affirms. "In the bed."

"In the bed?"

Maura nods, impatient now. "Yes, in the bed."

"Ah, okay," Jane stands up and pushes the dishes in the sink. No time to feel guilty about not rinsing them right now. She's too busy not passing out. "To sleep, you mean? Right?"

Maura tugs on Jane's shirt collar. "My goodness, Jane. Yes, to sleep. What else did you have in mind?"

Maura's drunk, but she knows what she's doing. She winks at Jane before taking her hand, leading her up the stairs and into the bedroom. They each clean up and ready for bed, Jane slumping into the sweatpants she always leaves here for occasions like this. After turning out the light, Maura snuggles up to Jane in the dark.

"So I shouldn't worry? About Dennis?"

The mention of his name makes her eyelids twitch.

"No," Jane sighs. "I wouldn't worry."

"I'm not very good..." Maura hesitates, but Jane can't see her face to decipher why, "at picking up signals. I can see them in others, but I'm so blind when it comes to those closest to me."

"You're doing just fine, Maura. Really."

"You'd tell me? If I was missing something big, wouldn't you?"

The earnestness in her voice makes Jane quake with uncertainty.

"Of course I would. Of course I would."


	4. Chapter 4

Some mornings, Jane wakes up to an alarm clock. And some mornings, she just wakes up to _alarm_. Bolting upright, her first conscious thought is that she's in Maura Isles' bed. Yes, it's extremely comfortable and made from space-age materials, but that's not the point. _She's in Maura's bed._

Scanning the room provides some relief; Maura is long gone. She really did keep her word- Jane didn't hear so much as a the tying of a shoelace as she snuck off to the gym. She slept clear on through, and is now alone in Maura's bedroom, watching the shadow of the trees outside dance across the downy blanket.

The clatter she hears downstairs could never be confused for anything other than the sound of Jane's mother. Angela has a distinct sound, an average decibel level, and it's nowhere near the elegant _sweeping_that Maura engages in.

"More like wrecking," Jane mutters, hopping out of the sheets.

She contemplates making the bed, and actually starts to, until she gets to the pillows. The pillows. How many decorative pillows can one person possibly need? They aren't just ordinary pillows, either. There are supporting role pillows and lead actor pillows and special effects pillows. Jane scraps the entire thing, leaving them all stacked on the end of the bed, awaiting Maura the director to help them find their places.

Downstairs, Jane doesn't get five seconds of quiet before Angela's giving her grief.

"You scratch your rear end like a man!" she squawks. "I taught you better than that!"

Jane freezes her hand, halfway inside the waistband of her sweats, and whips her head around.

"It's not my ass, Ma! It's the _top _of my ass. It's different."

Angela just groans, pulling coffee beans from the cabinet.

"Good morning to you too!" Jane mocks.

It dawns on Jane that the situation is extremely odd. Like, TLC reality show-level odd. Jane is Maura's best friend, and her mother lives in Maura's guest house. It's not uncommon to find the entire Rizzoli clan huddled around Maura's kitchen island, shooting the shit, while Maura is conspicuously nowhere to be found. And what's more, none of it seems to phase the good doctor at all. The doors are constantly unlocked- much to Jane's chagrin- and Angela has made herself so at home that she's started hosting Tupperware parties in Maura's living room.

"Did you girls sleep well together?"

Jane's eyes bug straight out of her head.

"What? No!"

Angela spoons a pile of ground coffee into the filter. "You didn't sleep well?"

This kind of interrogation should never occur before caffeine is had.

"What?" Jane's confused herself now.

"I know you slept with Maura, the guest bed is still made. Why didn't you sleep well? Up all night?"

The hole just keeps getting deeper.

"No, we were not up all night. I slept fine, Ma."

Angela eyes her, doesn't say anything, then pushes a white bottle of vitamins towards her.

"You might wanna try these, sweetheart. They help with mental acuity and memory. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

She's in desperate need of coffee, is what she she is. So she hip-checks her mother out of the way and takes over, confident she can remember the 'normal people' setting on Maura's crazy espresso machine.

"I think it's cute you two sleep together."

Oh god, please stop.

"Like when you were little, having sleepovers. Girl talk. I like that Maura brings that out in you."

She's also bringing out a serious case of the _gay_, but okay.

"We had a couple drinks, I got tired. That's it. It's not like we were braiding each other's hair."

Ever Jane's savior, Maura floats into the room from the front hallway, three paper cups in a tray in her hands.

"Oh thank god," Jane swoops in and rips one free, barely waiting to bring it to her lips. "I think I just set your machine to brew in 2016."

"Good morning ladies," Maura smiles, sliding in around Jane to turn off the pot. She smells sweaty and Jane really ought to find that disgusting but she doesn't. "Sleep well?"

Angela rolls her eyes. "Don't ask Jane. She had a hard time with that question earlier."

Maura looks at her, and Jane shrugs. "How was Sweatin' to the Oldies?"

"Very invigorating," Maura laughs and it's so cute Jane can't stand it. She should find the whole thing ridiculous instead of charming. "Are you alright? Your fists are balled as if you're preparing to hit something. Should I duck?"

Jane looks down. Her hands are clenched like a madwoman. She contemplates admitting that the person she wants to punch is herself, because she's never been one to do the lovesick thing very well.

"Just... exercising... my... hands."

The stupidest things have been coming out of Jane's mouth lately. Luckily, neither Maura nor her mother feel the need to point it out. They just sip at their coffees and make small talk, and Jane picks at the worn drawstring of her pants.

There's a knock at the door, and Maura grabs Jane by the hips to pass her so she can answer it. It's unfair, really, because once upon a time Jane could touch Maura that way too and there'd be nothing untoward about it. Now Jane's conscience won't let her, and she worries that her awkward stiffening is sending the wrong message entirely to the other woman.

"Oh, what is it?" Angela looks over Jane's shoulder at Maura who's carrying in a box.

Maura looks at it curiously. "I'm not sure. I'm not expecting anything."

"For once," Jane snorts, and Maura gives her the evil eye.

After a lot of unraveling, Maura pulls the item from the box for the big reveal.

"Oh, it's stunning!" Angela coos.

"It is, isn't it?" Maura stares at it in wonderment, and rifles through the box for a note. "It's from Dennis!"

She puts her hand over her heart and Jane once again wants to punch herself in the face.

"It looks like that lamp from A Christmas Story."

Angela wallops Jane in the arm, a reprimand that's oddly cathartic, but it's true. The sculpture is a leg. A foot, really, with a little bit of leg attached. All that's missing is the lampshade and some nylons.

Maura reads aloud. Jane rolls her eyes but has the decency to turn her head first so Maura can't see.

"_I'm sorry I've been so busy and out of touch. Been feeling very creative out here on the road, but I can't wait to see you. Love, Dennis._"

"Maura, that's fantastic!" Angela does that shivering, shuddery thing she does when she's overcome with emotion. "Oooh, I have a feeling about him. I think he might be-" she wags her eyebrows, "-the one! Don't you?"

She's looking at Jane. Straight at her. Jane looks over her shoulder.

"What, me? Do I think he's the one?"

Now Maura is looking at her too. With those expectant puppy eyes. Jane scours her brain for the right thing to say, and the pause is obvious and awkward.

"I don't know if I could marry a guy that sends me a leg."

And that deflates all the air out of the room. Maura doesn't seem to mind, but Angela is positively beside herself.

"You could be happier for your friend, Jane. You always were a bit of a negative Nancy."

Maura to the rescue again. "It's alright, Angela. Jane is very protective of me," she winks at her. "I value her opinion."

Jane decides not to gloat, instead just smiles at her mother. She jumps nervously, surprised, when Maura's arm slings around her waist. Her face is inches from Jane's.

"I'm hungry. Let's get dressed and take your mother to brunch!"

Maura doesn't even bother phrasing it as a question, and Jane doesn't bother putting up a fight.

* * *

"You gotta be kidding me," Jane shouts at the television screen. "This is why I hate college football."

Next to her, Casey is staring smugly at her. Jane can feel it, but she doesn't want to give in and have a look at him. Instead, she keeps muttering.

"You really know how to ruin a fine Saturday evening, don't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she shoots him a glare now, unable to let that one slide.

"It means," he leans back, feet on the coffee table. He knows Jane doesn't mind. "The beer's cold, the pizza's on it way. You just gotta be angry at something, don't you?"

She purses her lips. Considers a retort.

"I'm not angry at Notre Dame. I don't even _care_about Notre Dame."

He chuckles. "You think?"

Jane shoves him in the shoulder, and out of habit sort of falls into his lap as she does so. He looks down at her, his hands held aloft as if in surrender.

"What? Friends do this." Jane winks at him, tugging at the stubble on his chin. "Shave your face. You look menacing."

He rolls his eyes, returning his stare upward towards the television. "Reason number four hundred and eighty I could tell Jane was in love with another woman: wouldn't stop giving me shit about my facial hair."

Jane sits up with a start, another volley of punches to his arm. "Shut up. That is not even true."

"It is true," he takes a sip of his beer. "You just don't like hearing it."

Jane crosses her arms and folds her legs beneath her, grumpily huffing like a petulant child.

"Goddammit," she grits her teeth. "I _hate_this. I want it to go away." She suddenly perks up, turning to Casey. "Make it go away. You can do that, can't you? Let's just wish it away real hard!"

"Yes," he laughs, "and after we're done, can we wish _real hard _for world peace? And maybe for a couple million dollars. I could use a new car."

It's true, there's no use. Jane flips her hair into her eyes, and Casey swipes it away.

"Stop it. You'll be fine. How are things going, by the way?"

"Ohh," Jane exaggerates the sound. "Just peachy. Dennis sucks in bed and sent her a foot today. A _foot_. First he gave her a hand, then a foot."

"A foot?" Casey grimaces.

"Well, a sculpture of one. It's his _art_." Jane pretends to puke into her beer.

"It's weird."

"I know! And that's part of the problem! Maura loves weird! Maura _is _weird. How can I compete with that?"

He smiles at her. "You could make her something too. I remember you being pretty handy at woodshop."

Jane growls into her next pull of beer. "Was that reason number four hundred eighty one?"

"Kinda."

They settle into a friendly silence, until Jane feels the need to explain herself.

"I'm not gay."

He looks at her. "Okay?"

"I mean, I don't feel gay. I don't look at other women and think..." she struggles to even find a phrase, "..._nice tits_. I really don't."

Casey sighs. "This is a strange conversation for me, Jane. I'm not saying I won't have it but please recognize..."

"No, no," Jane puts a hand to his knee. "I know. And I appreciate it. I don't have anybody else to talk to about it."

"So you're not gay. That's a relief? Or... no?"

Jane slumps. "I don't know. All I know is, when I look at Maura, I feel like we belong together."

"What would Maura say?"

"About us belonging together? Hell if I know. And I ain't askin'!"

"No," he grabs another beer from the cooler Jane dragged into the living room. Getting up for seconds was unacceptable on football days. "About your crisis of sexuality."

"Oh. I dunno. Probably that it's perfectly normal."

"Well then there you go," Casey looks back at the game on the screen, about ready to drop the subject entirely. Not that Jane blames him.

"But then what if I'm just in _denial_?" Jane posits the question to the ceiling. "I could be in denial and not even know it!"

He looks at her. He's about to say something, probably something Jane doesn't want to hear, but her phone chimes from the coffee table.

"Saved by the bell," he murmurs.

Jane answers, grateful for the distraction.

"What's up, Frost?"

"We got results back from the lab on that substance we found at the crime scene."

Jane's mind flashed to the murdered woman, her blood splattered across the loft.

"And? What is it?"

"I can't make heads or tails of this mumbo-jumbo. Thought I'd forward it to Doctor Isles, let her translate. But whatever it is, database has it at another crime scene. A few months ago, a murder in Rhode Island."

"Similar MO?" Jane rustles through the bag of Chex Mix to find a pretzel.

"Nah. A strangulation. Might be worth looking into though."

She finishes up with Frost and sets the phone down.

"Looks like I'm working tomorrow."

"A macaroni necklace," Casey spats out without looking at her.

"Huh?"

"A macaroni necklace," he chomps down on a handful of chips. "You could make Maura a macaroni necklace. Chicks eat that shit up."

Jane looks at him, dumbfounded.

"You're a moron, you know that?"

He shrugs. "Wanna get drunk tonight and stay up watching COPS reruns?"

The knock at the door rouses Jane from her perch on the couch. She looks back at Casey before opening it.

"Hell. Yes."


	5. Chapter 5

Rain is coming down in sheets, but Jane pays it no mind. She barrels through the hedgerow instead of finding the walk, wetness slapping at her calves as her soaked pants make their presence felt. With her head hung, she can see the clumps of curly, matted hair swinging like vines, some clinging to her cheek.

Maura's front door is unlocked- no surprise there- and Jane nearly takes it off the hinges with the force of her lowered shoulder.

"Maura?" she shouts into the quiet house. "Maura?"

Hurried footsteps sound above her; Jane raises her eyes then follows the sound to the stairs. Maura is in jeans and a tank top, billowy and modest even when she's alone.

"Jane! What in the world-"

"You didn't come in today." The words have no inflection, just a statement. Jane realizes for the first time that she's out of breath.

Maura looks around, confused. "It's Sunday. I sent Frost my report on the findings he asked me to-"

"And you didn't think, given the content of that report, you might wanna come in?"

This time there was something icy in her voice. Jane might try to blame it on the wet weather and stress, her edginess, but she knows better. She knows how much Maura means to her.

"Jane," Maura tries again with more tact, coming down from the last step with a deliberate thump, "I'm a medical examiner. If there's something with the _body_that you need-"

"Sculptor's clay. That's basically what all that chemical compound mumbo-jumbo was about, right? Two pages of crap, and you save that- the _most important two words_- for the last damn sentence!"

There's a dripping sound, and Jane shrugs her shoulders to make it stop. It only makes it worse. The water is coming off her like a wrung-out sponge.

"The substance found at the crime scene is a clay most often used for sculpting or modeling, yes."

"And you don't find that to be a troubling bit of coincidence?!"

Maura's eyebrow hitches. "It was found in an _artist's loft_. I don't find it that absurd."

Jane nods, pacing a short trail in the foyer. "Except she was a painter, Maura. She didn't work in that medium. Like, ever."

The doctor laughs lightly, the blade of her hand over her mouth. "And you think that because I received a sculpted piece in the mail that-"

"How much do you really know about your _boyfriend_ Dennis? I mean what do you _really _know?"

"He's not even in Boston. Hasn't been for almost two weeks."

Artfully avoiding the question, Jane notices. She attacks from a different angle, but she'll come back to that.

"And you know that because he... said so?"

Maura takes a half-step back, folding her arms across her chest. She's protecting herself from Jane's onslaught, but right now Jane can't be concerned about her feelings. She's a bloodhound with a scent, and Maura will just have to understand. It could save her damn life.

"How about Rhode Island?" Jane reaches into her pocket and unfolds a piece of paper, softened by the humidity. "Maine? Frost is looking at his past tour dates right now."

"You're investigating my boyfriend?" Maura's voice climbs. "Based on a shoddy lead that means nothing? I know you're not making this personal, Jane."

The accusation hangs in the air. Jane does a double take.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Maura's hands slice through the air. "I don't know! You... you barge in here with this bizarre theory. In fact, it's not even a theory. It's... it's less than that! It's a half-assed reason to come in here and scare me, and why? Please don't tell me it's jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Jane roars, her head gliding back. "Jealous of what?! The guy busts one and leaves, Maura. Not exactly Prince Charming."

Her stare whittled down to the finest, barest point, Maura does not back down. In fact, she leans into Jane, her breath hot and angry.

"I'm not talking about Dennis, and you know it."

Jane wants to mount her own advance, to drive Maura back onto her heels, to explain to her how this is all about her safety, and that it's her job to explore all avenues, and that this is thing about hunches that her goddamn logical brain will never understand. But she doesn't.

"This isn't about you and I," Jane breathes. Her shoulders sag, and Maura's gaze has thankfully softened. There's a puddle where she's standing, and Jane kicks at it with her shoe, trying to wipe it away. "Bring in the foot... or _whatever_that is... for testing. I want the lab to compare it with the clay found at the crime scene, and the hand Dennis gave you, too."

Maura swallows. "You're making a mistake."

"Yeah, well." She holds up her hands, her scars on full display. "This was the last time I had a hunch like this, Maura. And I'd love to be wrong, but I won't risk your life."

In sharp contrast to Jane's sodden mess, Maura looks radiant. Her hair is loosely gathered behind her neck. Her skin is fresh and bright. Jane wants to fall to her knees and beg for something, but she isn't sure what. Forgiveness would be unnecessary. She didn't do anything wrong. A cure for the feelings that have torn her apart? Maybe.

Maybe Maura senses the shift, because she looks sympathetically at Jane's hands.

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," Jane shoves them away into the pockets of her jacket. "Just don't chase off the uniform out front, okay? Don't make my job any harder than it already is."

She nods.

Before leaving, Jane turns, her hand on the door.

"I went back to the loft this morning. Around the time our vic was killed." She points to the window, the rain beginning to let up. "Before the clouds rolled in. Anyway," Jane sighs. "If my _bizarre theory_is correct? He dragged her after he killed her because the light was better near the window. And where she was positioned relative to where we found the clay? Her lower left leg, front and center."

"It still doesn't mean it was Dennis." Maura seems desperate now, and Jane feels a twinge of guilt. She shrugs.

"And it doesn't mean it wasn't."

* * *

"The guy's got an interesting history," Frost chews on the end of a straw, spinning it around every so often. "But it _is_kind of a leap, Jane."

"Don't care," Jane takes a painfully large bite of her sandwich and swallows it whole. "How many times have I leapt and landed straight into the shit?"

His face wrinkles. "So in this scenario we _want_to land in shit? That's a positive outcome?"

"You know what I mean," she slides her chair closer with the heels of her feet, dragging herself along until the edge of the desk hits her rib cage. "Whadda we got?"

Frost makes a few clicks with his mouse. "Dennis Rockmond, forty. Been traveling on that motivational speaking tour for the last two years. It's insanely popular. I can't believe people actually buy this shit."

"Shit, in this case, being a bad outcome."

"Exactly," he smiles. "Driver's license is from Pennsylvania. Home address in Pittsburgh, but I called. It's a rental. He's never there, pays rent electronically on time every month. Don't know if we'll get anywhere on that end, but I put in a call to Pitt PD. Waiting to hear back."

"Okay," Jane pulls her hair over one shoulder and out of the way. "What about our vic's downstairs neighbor? We get a hold of her yet?"

Frost cracks his knuckles dramatically. "Coming in at 3 for an interview."

"Perfect. Let's print out a picture of Dennis and see if-"

Jane stops short, off Frost's concerned expression.

"What?"

He hesitates. "You sure you're ready to do this? It's pretty thin, Jane."

"And?"

"And," he looks around, as if for support but there's no one else in the room. "I dunno. You could jeopardize your friendship with Maura."

Jane knows as much, but she's never been one to diplomatically sit on her hands and wait for more proof. Maura knows that about her, and maybe, in time, might respect her for it.

"I'd rather have her hate my guts and be alive. She'll get over it."

"I just know you two are... _close_. And I didn't know if that had anything to do with-"

Jane groans. "Not you too, Frost. I don't like the guy, but I wouldn't try to pin a murder on him just for being a creep!"

He dumps the straw in the trash. "But there was that guy that Doctor Isles was dating, and you kept having patrol pull him over left and right."

"He was driving an unsafe vehicle! Faulty turn signals. No license plate illumination..."

Frost guffaws. "I think one night Frankie got him for having fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview."

"Maura does not have the greatest taste in men, I'll say that much." She pulls up the keyboard and starts to log in, but Frost's stare catches her.

"What _now_?"

He purses his lips. Shrugs. Waves that perfectly shaped head back and forth.

"You two ever...?"

"Ugh, God no! That's disgusting."

He looks stricken. "Disgusting? Doth protest too much, Jane. Damn."

She's really tiring of getting it from all ends these days. She flicks a pen at him.

"No, she and I... _that's _not disgusting. You thinking about it. That's disgusting."

"Sure, sure," he smiles deviously. "Two beautiful women. I don't know why some people have such a problem with it."

Jane can't help but challenge him. "Oh, yeah, right. But if it's two dudes, it's gross, right? That's the worst answer ever."

Again, Frost looks stricken. "I can appreciate the powerful majesty of the male form. Two men together... twice the _majesty_, right?"

In walks Korsak, and immediately, out walks Korsak.

"Vince!" Jane yells after him.

"No, no. I think I'll just go back to the docks. It is Sunday after all."

"Get in here, man!" Frost leans back in his chair to shout out the door. "We're investigating Doctor Isles' boyfriend. He's either a murderer or just a douchebag."

Korsak shuffles back in.

"Ooh, that guy is _too_ handsome. I don't trust him. Let's do this."


	6. Chapter 6

Jane sits with her back to the wall, knees drawn up close, her foot tapping against the cold concrete floor. She's waiting for Maura, waiting for her in the morgue while she's upstairs with the feds, having a conversation Jane was kindly asked to butt out of. Kindly asked, and then not so kindly asked, and then ordered by her lieutenant.

Semantics, really. She's not in the room, and that's all she cares about.

She had been right about Dennis Rockmond. Of course she was. Jane was always right when it pained her to be so, when it cost the most and hurt even more. She was very rarely right about the good and easy things. Jane assumes now it's because she has almost no experience with the good and the easy.

Jane just wants to be normal.

Her head in her hands, she doesn't stir when she hears the familiar sound of Maura's heels clacking, first far away and then dangerously close. There's no one else in the basement at this hour; Maura's meeting with the FBI went pretty late, and the civilians who all work down here left early anyway. It's a three-day weekend. Columbus Day, Jane surmises from the time of year. She'll get paid double to work the holiday, because what the hell else has she got going on?

"A body that motionless down here usually winds up in the freezer," Maura says quietly, the driest hint of a joke.

"Crack me and roll me away then," Jane grumbles into her shirtsleeves.

She can see the smooth curve of Maura's calves in her obstructed line of vision. Somewhere between her forearm and a fallen lock of hair.

"It's rather impressive how you manage this," Maura sighs, turning so Jane is now looking flat at the back of her legs. She's leaning over to do something. If Jane raised her head, she could see more, but she doesn't dare. "Somehow I'm left to worry about you, left to pick you up and dust you off. All the while, _you_should be the one doing that for me. It's impressive. A trick you'll have to teach me sometime. Classic reversal."

It takes a moment to register. Jane's head pops up.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Maura rolls her eyes, looking down at her. Literally and figuratively.

"You're moping. Pouting because the FBI took your case, and all the while I'm-"

"I am not pouting!" Jane shouts, realizing the idiocy of such a statement and thankful no one else is around to hear it. "I'm upset about the whole goddamn thing!"

Maura laughs as she gathers her things, a slim, very feminine-looking briefcase and a jacket she's having trouble straightening out. "Your investigative leads and subsequent cooperation with the Bureau will be noted in your personnel file. You'll probably get a commendation. Maybe even another spot in the paper if you're very lucky."

"Oh blow it out your ass, Maura!" Jane stands up, her shoulders square and her arms locked. "I was doing _my job_."

"I know, Jane. But you didn't have to take so much _joy_in ruining in my life in the process."

"_Ruining_ your life?" Jane fumes, her eyes so wide the frigid morgue air makes them burn. "I _saved _your life, Maura. That guy is a psychopath and if it wasn't for me, we'd be finding a sculpture of that pretty little mouth of yours he loves so much-"

The sound of the slap hits Jane a split-second before the pain. It cracks like a whip, Maura's hand against her cheek, and her mouth hangs there, open in shock and disbelief. The longer Jane stands there, not moving a muscle, the more she can see Maura visibly unraveling, thread by thread, her expressions running through the gamut of emotions like a flip book.

"You're only sorry the case went federal. If only he'd murdered women _solely _in the state of Massachusetts!" Maura drew the back of her hand across her forehead. "Then you could've had the glory all to yourself. Boston's Homicide Ace Nabs Another One: This Time Right From Her Best Friend's Bed."

"Maura…"

"No!" She pounds her fist through the air. "Do you even know what they were asking me in there? Every detail. _Every single detail_. What we did, when we did it. _How _we did it. I'm the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts! I had evidence of two homicides!"

"They don't think you were involved at all."

Maura shakes her head. "No, they don't. It's worse than that, Jane. They think I'm an idiot. A clueless, lovesick airhead, too blinded by a handsome face to see she was sleeping with a _murderer_. Do you know how that feels?"

Jane shakes her head, dropping her eyes.

"It'll be all over the news tomorrow."

"You're not accused of any wrongdoing-"

"All these years I've worked to earn the respect of my peers and colleagues. This department. And for what? To have it wiped away by a man who used me. Who…"

Maura's throat bobs, and Jane watches her swallow a painful sob. She steels herself, and steps closer. "Hate me if you have to, but I'm here for you. I've _been_here for you. You just haven't let me in. Ever since the investigation started, you keep pushing me away."

"How could I lean on you, Jane? Knowing you were working to prove yourself right, and I was hoping so desperately for you to be wrong?"

Jane smiles, a crooked, half-hearted attempt. "The evidence doesn't lie, Maura. I wasn't wishing it to fall one way or the other."

Maura is weakened, her lip trembling and her body subtly retreating from Jane's advance. It feels wrong, to exploit the moment, but it's not sexual and it's not friendly either. It's the dance of two people who naturally belong in each other's orbit, finding their way back into rhythm after weeks of a forced separation. Jane reaches for Maura's hand, and when she finds it, pulls it close, to cradle it against her breastbone.

"Did you love him?"

The doctor's eyes glisten, and waves of soft curls shake from side to side. "I don't know. I don't know anymore."

"You have to know, my first concern, my _only_concern… it's always been about you, Maura. Your safety. Your security. This wasn't an ordinary homicide case. Any glory is seriously outweighed by the look on your face right now. Knowing the hurt you feel."

Drawing in her lower lip to steady it, Maura looks away. Then the angry facade falls away completely, and Maura tumbles into her arms.

"How could I have been so stupid?"

Jane doesn't say anything, merely rocks them both back and forth, side to side, as if to clear some space around them. To push away the crowding uncertainty and embarrassment.

"I don't think I'm cut out for love."

Jane laughs lightly, only Maura has no idea why. Jane loves her so much that the words can only be comical, a cruel cosmic joke that only she and God are in on. Only Jane would realize her feelings far too late, the object of her affection having been left on the vine too long, overripe and picked away at by vultures.

"Who is?" Jane sighs. "Not me, that's for sure."

She's in danger of overdoing it once again, but the tension of the earlier moment must be diffused somehow.

"How could I have such a disgusting, depraved man in my bed, and _not know_?"

Jane leans back, looking down at Maura who still hasn't raised her head.

"I have some experience trusting the wrong people, Maur. It's not all us. They're very good actors. They're very good at what they do. Manipulating and hiding parts of themselves."

Maura shifts and Jane can feel her wet tears on her neck. The sensation is warm and sort of sloppy, but Jane doesn't mind. She wants to be Maura's best friend again.

"He didn't even bother hiding it all that much. I just… looked the other way, or made excuses."

"How do you mean?"

Maura pulls away and searches her desk for a tissue. Her nose squawks and Jane hides her smitten expression very poorly, as Maura narrows her eyes at her while giving it a final wipe.

"Don't patronize me, I'm sure I look like a mess."

Jane just shrugs, and Maura continues.

"He liked to play rough. Sexually, I mean."

Jane frowns. Deeply. Her lunch threatens to make an unannounced return engagement.

"I went along with it, even though it doesn't turn me on."

"I'm suddenly upset that he went so willingly into custody the other night. Not a single opportunity to slug him in the face."

"Jane." Maura gives her _that face_, the gently-disapproving-but-secretly-flattered face.

"I'm serious. You can't tell me that kind of shit, Maura. I want to cut his balls off and shove them down his throat. Did he ever hurt you?"

Maura shakes her head fervently. "No. No, he didn't. He liked to… pretend to hurt me."

Jane didn't know which was more revolting, the very idea that someone would enjoy seeing Maura writhe around in mock-agony, or the fact that Maura would subjugate herself for such a detestable piece of shit.

"If it makes you feel any better, I sat across from him at a dinner a million times and never suspected a thing."

Pushing her hair back and dabbing at her face, Maura sighs. "You hated him."

"Doesn't mean I'm happy he's a killer."

"But you're not all that upset he's out of my life."

Jane shakes her head, straightening the collar of Maura's jacket as she slips into it.

"I think you deserve better."

The words aren't meant to be so poignant but they hang there rather potently.

"But you've given up on love altogether, so I won't worry about it." Jane keeps helping Maura with the jacket, despite the fact that she no longer needs it. Her hands cover Maura's over each button, their fingers occasionally intertwining.

"And if I haven't?" Maura whispers.

Jane's close enough to kiss her, but there's too much doubt and way too much riding on this to make such a risky move. She breathes in her space, though, and makes sure Maura can feel the combined heat of their bodies.

"Then you deserve to be courted. The right way. You know, treated with respect. All that, uh, _junk_."

Maura smiles. "That's tough to find these days."

"Yeah, well," Jane puts an arm around her, and together they walk towards the elevator. "You never know."

* * *

When Maura finally comes downstairs, Jane hurries into position on the couch. She tries her best to look nonchalant, slicing away a stray bit of hair from her face at the last second. Her legs are folded and she smiles lazily at the other woman.

"Feel better after a hot shower?"

Maura nods, a hand running through damp hair. "I do. Is your mother back in the guest house? Now that it's safe, I certainly want her to know she's welcome to return."

"I think she said she'd come back tomorrow. She's staying at my place with Jo tonight so I can, y'know, keep an eye on you tonight."

A carefully sculpted brow raises. "Keep an eye on me? With Dennis in custody, I'm finally out of danger."

"Safe, yes. Emotionally compromised? Also yes."

"I'm not going to kill myself over Dennis Rockmond, if that's what you're implying."

Jane shakes off Maura's flair for the dramatic. "I was thinking more along the lines of _extremely ill-advised online purchases_, but hey, whatever."

Maura catches a glimpse of the bouquet on the dining room table, and does a double-take. She looks genuinely surprised, which makes Jane redden like a teenager.

"The florist said they were a good fall choice. I liked the rustic colors. They go good in here."

"They do go well, Jane," Maura smirks. "You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," Jane turns over and rests her body against the arm of the couch, watching Maura go over the blooms with the palm of her hand. "Sort of a… 'Sorry I investigated your boyfriend- _again_,' bouquet."

Maura laughs, groaning with disbelief. "Then I suppose I owe you a, 'Sorry I keep dating drug smugglers and murderers' burrito?"

Jane taps the opposite cushion and Maura steps around her to sit down. "Damn right. Maybe this weekend."

"Alright."

They watch television for about an hour, Jane intermittently falling asleep and then jolting awake. When Maura does decide to turn in for the night, she nudges Jane before leaving.

"Let's go to bed."

Every time she hears Maura say those words, it gets harder and harder for Jane to remember what they meant the first time she heard them. What they've ever meant within the context of their friendship. Because all she can hear is the softness in Maura's voice, and all she can see is the sultry look in Maura's lidded eyes.

"Okay," she stretches into an upright position. "But I think I'm gonna stay in the guest room."

Maura helps her stand up with a quick tug. "Why's that?"

Jane, towering above her, just shakes her head. "I don't know. It just feels like the right thing to do."

If things are going to change between them, Jane knows they must be clear strokes. And Maura might be timid now, but it's only a matter of time before that ebbs away. Maura Isles is far too confident and brilliant to remain a wallflower for long.

She takes Jane by surprise, planting a kiss on her cheek that lingers just a second too long.

"Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning, Jane."


	7. Chapter 7

The conference room just off the bullpen has it all. The coffee pot on the window sill is still relatively new, not scorched from over- and misuse or covered in old, mildewy grinds. The tables are smooth and the legs don't wobble, the Department intranet cables haven't been ripped out of the wall yet, and there's actually a decent view of the city if you stand up and crane your head to the left.

Ordinarily, detectives can't just set up shop in there and go to town. But holiday Mondays clear the joint out pretty good, and Jane and Frost have already planted their flag- two laptops and a box of donuts- and are all set to get paid double-time for doing work they have to do anyway, getting paid _no_-time in the spare minutes of their days off and lunch breaks.

"Why does Korsak always do this?" Frost holds up a manila folder with the front tab bent backwards.

Jane chuckles over the lip of her coffee cup. "Because it's an open case. It's better than how he _used_ to mark them."

"Dare I ask?"

She holds up a red pen and makes a circle in the air. "A giant 'O' across the front of the folder. The only thing I ever liked about Crowe was that he used to draw faces in them and embarrass the hell out of Korsak whenever the case finally went to court. He once sat on the stand, dead serious, holding out a case file that looked like this," Jane crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue, letting it wag dramatically.

"No shit," Frost shakes his head.

"'_The jury is instructed to disregard all stick figures pertaining to this case!'_"

"His cruiser still in the lot downstairs?"

Jane nods. "Should be. He's off today. Why?"

"Think we should fill it with crickets again?"

"I'd be upset if we didn't."

"Perfect. Crickets and a rotten chicken thigh."

She closes out one of the windows on her screen and opens another. "You got a rotting chicken thigh lying around?"

"Nah, but I know where I can get one."

"'Member that time we stuck that nasty sock in his cabin air filter?"

Frost snorts. "_Remember_ it? How could I forget? Do you know how hard it is to get a cat to pee on a sock?"

Jane stops what she's doing. Waits a beat. Looks over at Frost across the conference table.

"You were supposed to take the sock and stick it in the letterbox first. Soak it up that way. You held a cat down and forced it to pee on an article of clothing?"

He looks away. "No. Maybe… Yes."

As the hours tick by, so do the donuts, and just before lunch there's only two left. Jane starts to think absently about getting something else to eat but before she can settle on anything and raise the idea to Frost, there's a tap at the plate glass wall behind them.

Jane spins around and nearly falls out of her chair. Maura is standing there, waving at them like a kid about to ride the Tilt-a-Whirl solo for the first time. She looks amazing.

"Wow."

That wasn't supposed to come out.

Frost looks at Jane, then back at Maura. He waves too, an equally goofy and enthusiastic wave, and Jane wonders why it is that Frost and Maura aren't better friends outside of work.

Then she realizes it's probably because Frost knows better than to encroach on Jane's territory. For some reason, this makes her smile deviously.

"Come in," Frost mouths, a half-whisper. He can be such a girl sometimes.

Maura appears in the doorway, smiling and breathless although Jane has no idea why. When Maura is in a good mood, it is infectious in the worst way. She's a crisp breeze, a squirt of citrus, a fresh flower, and a slap to the face all at once. That last one Jane recently experienced firsthand. She figures what the hell and just lets her mouth hang open at the sight of her.

"Working hard or hardly working?"

Her eyes are sparkling. Goddammit.

"Somewhere in between. What're you doing here, Sunny Delight?"

Frost laughs, and Maura does too, even though everybody in the room knows she has no idea why it's funny.

"I came to pick up my laptop. I wanted to work on an article I'm writing for the Journal of Forensic Science."

Jane looks her up and down unabashedly. Not in pervy way, but with the bemused expression of someone who genuinely admires that which she will never, ever understand. Maura's wearing a white and navy striped sweater, some short pants that would come up to Jane's knees, and flats. She's wiggling her toes inside the shoes; Jane can tell because she's watching the ligaments move on the top of each foot.

"Are you going yachting afterwards?"

Maura puts her hands on her hips. "Well if I was, someone just got herself uninvited."

She slings her big leather purse from over her shoulder onto the chair next to Jane, issuing and accepting her own invitation of sorts. Frost moves over to the other end of the table to make room for her.

"You look appropriately morose." Maura motions towards Jane's own outfit. Black t-shirt, black jeans, black boots with the laces untied.

Jane shrugs. "These are my fall colors. We can't all be fashion plates…"

The doctor unceremoniously leaves the room, and Jane holds her hands in the air. Leaning back and shouting out the open door, she once again almost topples to the ground.

"Hey! I was just kidding!"

Maura comes back in, a large brown paper bag in her hand.

"Calm down, I just left this in the hallway."

She starts unpacking the bag, silver plates with paper tops tucked neatly inside. Whatever it is, it smells amazing.

"Whoa, is that Giordano's?" Frost twitches his nose. "It is, isn't it?"

"Very astute, Detective," Maura replies, shelling out more and more stuff from the bag that is seemingly bottomless. "And Jane."

She sets a specially marked plate in front of her, and Jane lifts the edge to peek inside.

"Oh my god."

It's the antipasto salad Jane loves so much and that will probably kill her. It's oily and fatty and covered in salted meats and cheese. She's pretty sure the roasted red peppers are healthy, though, so that's something.

"Wow, Doc. You didn't have to do all this." Frost's words are especially powerful considering they're sandwiched around a giant roll he's already shoved into his mouth. "How'd you even know we were in here?"

Maura sighs. "You two are in here every holiday-"

When the first forkful touches Jane's lips, it's game over.

"I love you."

There's an awkward silence. Jane swallows.

"The salad. I love the salad."

Frost appears to buy that. It wouldn't be the first time one of them professed love to a plate full of food. Or a car air freshener. Or a pen.

Maura's hand grazes Jane's shoulder.

"I knew you would."

As they settle in to eat, Maura excuses herself and bounces down the hall. Frost's eyes follow her as she vanishes beyond the glass interior wall.

"She looks nice."

"Uh huh," Jane intentionally doesn't respond with much more than that. She doesn't even lift her head. Jane Rizzoli knows when Barry Frost is up to something.

"Nice of her to bring us the grub."

"Yup."

He points his fork at her. "How's the salad?"

Jane chews deliberately. "Delicious."

"You love it?"

"I do."

He waits. "What are your intentions with the salad?"

Jane gives in. "What the hell, Frost?"

"You heard me. Do you _really_ love the salad? Because… the salad isn't the best at picking dates. The salad is vulnerable. The salad would end up marrying a guy who puts anthrax in little envelopes if it wasn't for you. So… I'm asking, as a concerned friend, what are your intentions… _with the salad?_"

"You are mentally unfit to carry a gun, dude."

He tosses his napkin like a frisbee across the table. "Me? You do realize you- Jane Rizzoli- softly whispered her name just then? When she knocked on the window?"

"I did not."

His eyes go wide. "You did. You so did!" He then closes his eyes, and Jane feels embarrassment welling up in the pit of her stomach. "_Maura_. Followed by a 'wow,' then a good thirty seconds of eye-fucking the shit out of her. I know you said a while back that you don't swing like that, but… well, if you don't know, I'm here to tell you. You _do_."

Jane pushes the salad to the side and starts away again on her computer. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about, Frost, but you better button it up before she gets back in here. You know she's having a hard time with this Dennis thing."

"That's why I'm asking!"

Jane ignores him, furiously searching for a document to sink her teeth into. Anything to avoid this bizarre conversation.

"You still don't trust me as much as you do Korsak," his voice turns serious. "Man… after everything. It sucks, Jane."

"That's not it, Frost. That's not…" she sighs, letting go of all hope of getting out of this one. "Look, you ever just… have certain feelings… you wanna keep close to the vest?"

"You keep everything close to the vest."

"Why are you pushing this so hard, Frost? Jesus, what's it to you?"

"Because!" Frost's voice climbs higher, and he meters it back down. "Because… for as much as you," he rolls his eyes, "_love that salad_, I think the salad loves you back. And I'm tired of watching you guys screw it up so damn bad. She could've been hurt, Jane. Hurt looking for something that, shit, she's already got."

Jane closes her eyes, unsure of what to say but feeling a distinct lump in her throat nonetheless.

"I see the way she looks at you," he smiles primly. "I see the way you look at her."

"It's not that simple."

"It can be."

Maura glides back into the room, the tension between Jane and Frost still palpable. She looks at both of them, her brow knitted in concern.

"Everything alright?"

Jane leans back, easing her shoulders. "Yeah."

She sits down in the chair next to Jane and opens her own dish, a plate overflowing with greens and what looks like sautéed eggplant.

"How's your salad?" she beams.

Jane looks pointedly at Frost, who winks at her. She sighs.

"Complicated."

* * *

"Oh, dammit."

Maura saunters into the kitchen with a distracted look on her face.

"What's wrong?" Jane is cracking a much-deserved beer after taking her mother to dinner. Two hours of hearing about _anyone's_ colon is bad enough, but over _food_? Jane predicts a six-pack at least.

"The light in the hall bath blew again. I'll have to get the ladder from the basement."

Jane, her cheeks swollen with beer, leans into the darkened room.

"Nah," she swallows. "I can do it. Just get me the bulb."

Maura looks over her shoulder at the detective, batting her eyelashes playfully.

"You would do that? How wonderful. I hate how dusty the bulbs get. Makes my hands so," she dances her fingers in the air, "dry. Ugh."

"Wow," Jane mutters. "Yeah me too. I… definitely hate that. But I'll do it anyway."

A minute later Maura's found the bulb for the recessed fixture and hands it to Jane. She puts down her beer and stands in the bathroom, hands on her hips.

"Ceiling's a little higher than I thought. Hang on."

She tries standing on the toilet seat, but then she's too far away and can't reach. Of course that doesn't stop her from extending her arm as far as it will go and making an incredibly unattractive sound, exactly same way her father used to approach a very obvious lost cause.

Maura watches her with some amusement before offering to get the ladder once again.

"No, no," Jane dismisses the idea outright. "I can just hop up here. Did it all the time as a kid."

From the closed toilet seat to the pedestal sink, Jane stretches one leg and then the other. She's pretty sure Maura is staring at her thighs, which, hey, added bonus. She knew she wore shorts well into autumn for a reason.

"Bingo."

Jane has the blown bulb halfway unscrewed when she hears the first sound. It's curious, the way things work in slow motion sometimes, but Jane ignores the niggling sensation of impending doom when Maura audibly swoons.

"That's some very nimble work, Jane."

Smiling with her face only inches from the ceiling, Jane lowers her hand, gives Maura the old bulb to throw away and starts in with the new one. The task is damn near complete when another sound precipitates Jane's descent. Suddenly, her head isn't against the ceiling. It's crashing into the wall.

"What the-"

That last crack was the ceramic pedestal shattering clean in half. What follows after is a whooshing sound, like musical notes in all sorts of keys as the water from the sink's plumbing tinkles down onto the tile, the toilet, and the brass fixtures. Maura's face is frozen in utter disbelief as the spray soaks the entirety of the small room and its two inhabitants.

"Holy shit, Maura! The valves!"

Jane squats down and pulls the broken remains of the sink away, revealing two shut-off valves. Or, more accurately, where two shut-off valves should be. Instead it's just two steady streams of water, shooting into the air like the fountains at Disney World. The handles are mangled and unusable, as Jane learns by spinning them haplessly round and round.

"Jane! Oh my goodness!"

"Oh my _goodness_?!" Jane shouts over the rushing water. "Are you kidding me right now? Where's your water main?"

Maura's sopping wet, holding a towel to divert the spray of water. It's shooting into the mirror now, and when Jane looks into it briefly, her own reflection looks like that of a drowned rat. Way to go, Rico Suave.

"Downstairs! Behind a panel-"

She doesn't wait to hear the rest. Surely Maura wouldn't find it odd to explain, in detail, the location of the main valve, its size, color, and likely design flaws but Jane hates the sensation of water up her nose. She sprints down into the basement and trips over something, flying to floor with a very loud thud.

On her feet again, she finds the main, turns it as tightly as she can, wipes wet hair from her eyes and takes a deep breath.

"Anything?" she shouts.

"Nothing!" Maura shouts back.

Jane growls in the darkness. Screams at the top of her lungs. "Okay, _nothing_ as in, it didn't _do_ anything, or nothing as in, the water's stopped?!"

There's an unnaturally long pause.

"The latter!"

Is Maura for real with this shit?

"It's a little late for the fucking _ladder_, Maura! Is the water off or not?!"

Above her, she hears the stomping of footsteps, and a sliver of light as the basement door reopens.

"This is one of those 'Who's on First' debacles, isn't it?"

The delight in Maura's voice tells Jane what she needs to know. She plods back up the stairs and heads straight for the now-dripping bathroom.

Water is slowly cascading from every surface, pooling at their feet and making the metallic flecks in the tile sparkle in the sparse light.

"Well."

Jane kicks a foot at the demolished sink, its pedestal leg pointing up at the sky like a jagged finger.

"Well," Maura repeats without inflection. "At least you got the bulb fixed."

Slowly, deliberately, Jane turns to face Maura. The doctor grins from ear-to-ear, her hair pasted to the crown of her head and drops of water trickling down her nose.

Jane doesn't move. "I was trying to impress you."

Maura tugs at the t-shirt that clings too tightly to Jane's chest.

"It worked. Sort of."

"Instead I…" Jane's skin crackles at the slightest touch of Maura's fingertips. "I think I'm bleeding on your floor."

She points downward, and Maura follows, hands walking down Jane's body until the doctor is squatting in front of her. Jane's knee is scraped and bloody.

"I can patch that up," Maura stands back up- thank God because seeing her like that makes Jane think dirty thoughts- and awkwardly brushes Jane's shoulders off. "You'll be as good as new."

"I'm really… sorry."

"It's okay. Things happen."

They're both breathing heavily, what with the exertion of running around, the confusion, the mess. It's not the right moment, Jane thinks, but it's not the wrong one either. Maura is watching her, very obviously waiting for her to do _something_, and judging by the flush of her skin, it's not to crack a joke or swing an arm around her like a buddy.

They both look ridiculous. They're wet. Tired. Jane could blame it on the beer, probably.

She leans in and their noses meet; Jane nudges Maura's out of the way with an affectionate bump. Her hands find their way to Maura's hips, and in reply Maura's arms drape neatly over Jane's shoulders.

When they kiss, it's a little odd. Jane's never kissed another woman before, and she hasn't kissed anyone shorter than her since high school. But it's not unnerving. The pieces want to fit together, if only they can relax long enough to let it happen. Eventually they ease into something comfortable, but Jane doesn't dare open her mouth. Their lips just stay pressed together like that, cool from the water's spray, until Maura makes a small sound, and leans back.

"Your mother will be in at ten to watch the nightly news."

Jane's brain struggles to catch up.

"Oh."

That's what she says. _Oh_. It's like every ounce of her mental capacity was expended during the brief kiss. She shrugs, eyes pleading with Maura for sympathy.

"I'm going to put some dry clothes on," Maura is so close she's whispering, and Jane wants to snidely add that it's not helping her pull it together. "Put on some tea?"

Jane nods.

"Okay."

Two syllables more, for a grand total of three. If this is what kissing Maura Isles is like, Jane realizes she's going to need a lot more time to prepare for anything more.

A whole hell of a lot more time.


	8. Chapter 8

Jane doesn't hate reading. She hates _books_. For whatever reason, God cursed her with an inability to get comfortable while reading a book. She wants to lay on her side, but then it's a battle: where to put this arm, how to keep her hand from getting tired of holding the pinched-back pages at the right angle for her to read.

She sits up on the couch and leans against the arm. Stuffs a pillow behind her back and draws her knees up. It feels a little too much like reading a book while getting a gynecological exam. She grunts and kicks one leg down, sending a cushion flying.

Jo Friday is staring at her from the floor, eyeing the discarded cushion with a little too much enthusiasm.

"Don't you dare hump that pillow, Jo. I swear."

The dog has been known to bite and tug and hump anything stuffed that hits the ground. It's kind of weird and kind of fascinating the way she first rearranges the item, using her teeth to position it, then wears the damn thing out, growling and pulling and getting the cotton into just the right shape before pummeling it like it owes her money. Jane laughs out loud. It's funny, given the current situation.

Jane's making sure the dog doesn't get too frisky while she herself is reading what could only be categorized as _smut_ and lazily considering slipping into the bedroom for a little "solo time." It's outright unfair, but those are the breaks.

"The perks of being the human. I get to tell you what to do."

Her eyes dart away from Jo and back onto the pages of the book. The soft cover is worn and curled- Jane got it from the gay bookstore near the university. Well, no, technically she got it from the grizzled old lesbian behind the counter. She said Jane looked 'frightfully green' and in need of some help. She accepted it only after adjusting the baseball cap and oversized sunglasses she was using to hide her identity.

And people said her experience as an undercover would never come in handy again.

Now normally Jane wouldn't accept used porno books from _anybody_, for a lot of pretty obvious reasons, but there was something about the way the Grand Matriarch of Boston Lesbians- that was what Jane called her in her head- pushed these particular books into her hands. It felt hidden, conspiratorial. Like this woman was passing on some secret knowledge that Jane just had to devour.

Maybe joining the lesbian community was like joining a frat or a secret society. She hopes if there's a handshake or something, it'll be illustrated at the end of one of these books. If not, she'll have to pay another visit to the Grand Mother.

At any rate, even though Jane can't get comfortable, she's already plowed through two and a half books, and her eyes are still going wide at some of the stuff she's reading. She always imagined sex with another woman would be boring.

"Wow. Okay," Jane exhales sharply after reading an exceptionally graphic passage. "That... that can't be that simple. Where does your nose go?"

Jo whimpers from the floor.

"Her _ass_, that's where. That's what this book isn't telling you. Yeah, it's all fun and games until your nose is in somebody's ass."

Despite her outward skepticism, a part of Jane leaps at the thought. She promptly dismisses it though.

A few pages later, there's a detailed description of one character going down on another. Jane reads carefully, scrutinizing the exact order of operations. Notices precisely what is missing: the male tendency to indiscriminately slob all over the damn thing like a ham sandwich.

Her mouth opens. She turns the page. Her lower lip wraps neatly over her bottom row of teeth and she starts flicking the skin with her tongue. Her eyebrows furrow.

She has no idea how long she carries on like that before she realizes just what she's doing.

"Oh Jesus Christ," she pulls her mouth shut and wipes her lips dry with her sleeve. "Really, Jane. Jesus."

Her sweatpants are riding up, so she tosses the book aside and tugs them down, wiggling her ass until she's satisfied. On the kitchen counter, her phone dings, and for the first time since she sat down to read, she thinks of Maura.

She deliberately avoided thinking about the other woman until now. This was supposed to be a fact-finding mission, not a fantasy. One foot, covered in a worn, stretched-out sock, curls and flexes in response, as if to nudge her brain in the other direction.

"Damn it."

Popping up from the couch, Jane checks her phone. It is Maura, as she suspected. Nobody else would be texting her on a rainy Tuesday night.

_What kind of candy do you like?_

Jane's mind flits back to the first book. The eighteenth chapter. Where Kara and Carly lick warm chocolate off each other's boobs. Page 202, if she recalls correctly.

"Jesus Christ!" she shouts in the empty living room, and Jo woofs in support.

She focuses back on the phone.

_Candy's candy. Just not those hard caramels in the funny wrapper._

For a fleeting second, she remembers her Nonna Rizzoli and the aged, cracked caramels she used to keep in the gaudy candy dish. Right next to her ashtray and a pack of brown-wrapped Mores. She wrinkles her nose.

_Good. If the trick-or-treaters don't claim it all, I'm counting on you to dispose of it._

Jane pumps her fist. The best part of being an adult. You don't have to dress up in a costume to get what you want. Although, Jane's pretty sure the two characters in this latest book are headed towards some kind of dress-up scenario.

There's a knock at the door, and Jane practically jumps out of her skin. She shoves the book away, covering the stack of novels with an overturned open magazine. Guns and Ammo. She laughs out loud.

"Coming!"

A peek through the peephole, and Jane's smile dissipates.

"What, Ma?!"

Angela's expression is a mixture of wounded and no-fucks-given.

"Well, that's a lovely greeting! And to think, I traipsed all the way over her in a _monsoon_ to bring you these!"

She thrusts out her arm, arrow-straight, a white paper bag dangling from her fingertips.

"Aw, jeez," Jane steps aside to let her mother in and peers into the bag. "_Sfogliatelle_... you shouldn't have."

The words have barely left Jane's mouth and she's already shoving one of the pastries into her mouth, the light dusting of powdered sugar making a cloud in front of her.

"You look skinny," Angela plops down on the couch. "That, and I look fat. So I can't have them lying around the house."

"You're not fat, Ma. But what about Maura?"

Angela looks aghast. "You think Maura's _fat_?"

"No!" Jane rolls her eyes, dropping her arms to her side and letting the crumbs fall to the floor. Jo races over, her nails ticking along the way. "I meant why didn't you just leave them on the counter for Maura?"

"Oh, I don't know. She's so _fancy_. I doubt she'd like them."

"You know," Jane puts the bag on the counter and heads straight for the fridge, hunting for a beverage to wash down the faint sweetness. "Maura was just saying I've got to eat the Halloween candy if it doesn't go. You're bringing me pastries you can't eat. What am I, everybody's garbage pit?"

Angela shrugs, looking over her shoulder at Jane from her perch on the couch. "You should think of it as a compliment! Look at you! You're gorgeous. My gorgeous daughter who can eat anything."

Her mother's adoring gaze feels genuine, which of course means Jane can barely endure it.

"I _do_ still fit in the suit pants I got like six years ago."

She pours a glass of milk.

"Which speaks volumes about your sense of style, Janie. _That_ could use a little work."

"Ha, ha," Jane feigns a laugh. "That reminds me, I wanna give you that makeup I'm not using..."

She heads to the back of the apartment, towards the bathroom, but can still hear Angela playfully teasing her about her wardrobe.

"You were blessed with legs up to your eyeballs, Janie. It's a crime to waste that!"

Jane imagines her neighbors can also hear her mother's very loud advice.

"You should be getting _Vogue_ instead of... what is this? A gun magazine?"

Her hands are rummaging in the bottom drawer of the bathroom cabinet, and Jane quickly tears them away, making a mad dash for the living room. Angela is holding up the magazine with two fingers, like the masculinity is somehow catchy.

"Honestly, Jane."

She flings it onto the coffee table and smiles up at her daughter, who smiles back despite secretly plotting how to cover up the stack of lesbian romance novels now lurking just out of Angela's reach.

Jane can crack criminals, fool even the most sophisticated con artist, but she cannot for the life of her outwit her mother. Her eyes must've given her away, because Angela turns back to the side table to see what other reading material her daughter is engaged in.

"_Pink Perfection_," she reads aloud, and Jane feels her stomach drop straight out of her ass. Angela sounds oddly delighted. "I thought you hated pink, Jane!"

She smiles as she flips through the pages, Jane frozen in place, unable to decide whether it would be better or worse to rip the book from her fingers. On the one hand, there are hundreds of pages that Angela could casually glance over and never be the wiser. On the other, the eyes of a mother could find the word _clitoris_ in a haystack.

"Umm," Angela stops page-turning. Lingers on a paragraph. Jane lunges forward, but her mother swings away at the last second. "Is this... is this what I think it is?"

"Those aren't mine," Jane looks at Angela like she is absolutely insane. If she's going to sell it, she has to _really_ sell it. "When have you ever seen me read a book?!"

Angela concedes the point with a look.

"But," she eyes the stack, "whose are they? There's a lot of them."

"Maura's."

Jane's teeth clench into the most unconvincing of grins. Angela bends her arm to her side, smug.

"No, they're not. Maura doesn't read this kind of cheesy smut. The stuff Doctor Isles is into," Angela widens her eyes, "would really knock your socks off. This is snoozefest."

She tosses the book onto the coffee table and starts rifling through the others. Jane is not sure what to feel. Mostly all she can think about is how she thought the collection was rather risque. Now her mother is telling her it's _vanilla_?

"Ma, how do you... how do you know what Maura reads? And what do you mean-"

She holds her hands out innocently.

"We swap books once in a while. It's a girl thing, you know?"

"I'm a girl!" Jane squeaks defiantly.

"I know that, Janie," Angela looks at _her_ like she's the one who's lost it, "but you're my _daughter_. My goodness. Plus I know how squirrelly you get about sex."

"Squirrelly?!"

Angela blinks slowly. "See?!"

"Okay," Jane sits down on the armchair across from her mother, trying to gather herself. She's only digging the hole deeper with her histrionics. "So you and Maura read porny novels. Together."

"We each read them and discuss. It's like a book club."

"For porn?"

Angela seesaws her hand. "I don't like the word 'pornography.' It's just for fun, Jane. Isn't that what this is for?"

She motions to the books.

"Uh," Jane debates internally. "Yeah. I mean... yes."

Jane's buried her head in her hands, ready for this conversation to be over. She can hear Angela curiously thumbing through another selection.

"These are all gay, Jane."

The captain has turned on the _No Shit_ signal.

"Yep," Jane grinds out, not raising her head.

"Huh. I could try one. Oh, but not this one," Angela stops abruptly and Jane looks up at her. She turns the book, flashing Jane the dog-eared page. "You're not finished! I'll try another."

Jane's in shock. That would explain the numbness in her hands. She stares at Angela, unsure what to say. But Angela doesn't throw her a lifeline, she just kicks off her shoes, curls up her feet and opens one of the books to the first page, humming softly.

"Right now? You're gonna read this _right now_?!"

Angela looks up at her. Motions out the window.

"It's a torrential downpour, Janie. We've got sweets, a couple blankets... come on, let your old mother hang out with you for a few hours."

"Why would you even-" she thrusts her hands at the book. "Why would you even wanna read that? There's no men in it."

"Maura had me read this one book," Angela gapes, scandalized. "It was all about people who went to this club and had anonymous sex. With strangers!"

Jane remained flat. "Where is this going?"

"And they wore hoods, and it was... well, it was weird. But it was interesting. I don't have to want to _do_ it to wanna read about it. You can relate."

She quirks an eyebrow. "I can?"

"Well yeah," Angela smiles at her. "There's no men in it, but you're reading it! What's the difference?"

Oh. _Ohhh_. Jane had just sort of assumed her mother would think, by virtue of owning a stack of lesbian porn, that she was gay. That she would somehow escape the awkwardness of having to explain her attraction to women- one woman in particular- would've at least make this painfully uncomfortable experience worthwhile.

But no. Angela went on blissfully assuming her daughter was just an avid reader and total weirdo, like her. Jane's shoulders slump, and she stands up with a slow groan.

"I'm eating that whole goddamn bag of _sfogliatelle_, and I don't care who knows it."

* * *

"What up, Mister Rogers?"

Jane delivers the dig with the deft touch of a professional, eyes never leaving the coffee pot she's pouring from. Frost spins on his heel and reverses course, his chest puffed defiantly.

"Excuse you?"

"Nice _sweater_, Grandpa."

To be fair, the garment in question looks modern and well-fitted, the v-neck exposing Frost's shirt and tie beneath it. Still, though. Jane can't let something like that slide; it'd set a bad precedent.

"It's sweater weather. This is perfectly acceptable."

"Yeah," she snorts, "if you're teaching eighth grade science."

He's about to reply, his finger extended in Jane's direction, when there's a nudge at both their bodies. Maura is squeezing between them to reach the coffee, effectively diffusing the standoff.

"I think it looks fantastic," Maura interjects. "That dark aubergine? With your skin tone? Simply divine."

Frost cackles. "Hear that, Rizzoli? _Aubergine!_ And it's _divine_! So you can suck it."

Jane grits her teeth, staring him down as he slinks away. When Maura commands Jane to hand her the sugar, she nearly loses it.

"Do I come into your office and undermine _your_ work?"

Maura doesn't miss a beat. "Yes, actually."

"No, I do not! You can't come in here and let all the air out of my jokes! It's how we keep Frost in line. We make sure he feels like shit on a daily basis!"

From across the busy cafe, Korsak's voice booms.

"Hey everybody, look! It's Bill Cosby!"

Jane spreads her arms wide, vindicated. "See?!"

Maura balks. "Technically, Jane, we're not in your office. And that hardly seems fair. Traditionally, the newest member of a close-knit team may be subject to light hazing but in this case, it's been-"

"Shh," Jane puts a hand over Maura's mouth for a split second, then pulls it away. The warmth and softness of her lips is, to put it mildly, distracting. "Just... shh."

Maura tests her coffee. Makes a satisfied little sound, and Jane's brow begins to sweat.

"So, ah..." Jane gives her a private smile, one that any passerby wouldn't think twice about. But now that they've kissed, she's pretty sure Maura understands the difference. "You look nice."

"Thank you," she turns inward to face Jane, tugging lightly at the clingy fabric around her ribcage. "You don't think this top makes my breasts look too big?"

Jane's mouth falls open.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Maura frowns, but taps her arm playfully. "Your mother told me about the _books_ you've been reading. Don't worry, I played dumb."

"Jesus Christ."

"It's perfectly normal, Jane," she lowers her voice, but not enough for Jane's liking. "And it's kind of... sweet, actually."

"Sweet how?" Jane pops a lid on her coffee and hands one to Maura.

"Sweet that you're intent on expanding your sexual repertoire," she draws in a breath. "I can't help but think some of that is for _my_ benefit."

Jane pulls Maura towards the elevator bank, feeling exposed and intent on deflecting.

"Hard fastball, low and inside," she growls. "That's all the repertoire I need."

Maura sucks her cheeks in, pursing her lips. "You're being funny," she sips on her coffee, "but are you aware how that sounds? Not even _vaguely_sexual. Overtly sexual."

Frost appears in Jane's peripheral vision. "Bad time?"

"No!" she and Maura both reply, too quickly to be true.

"Good," he reaches between them and hits the call button they seemingly forgot about. "Having some people over at my place this Friday. Beers, candy... _costumes_," his eyebrows bounce.

Maura gasps in delight. Of course she does.

"Do I _have_ to dress up?" Jane whines.

As the elevator doors slide open, Frost flashes her a big smile. "Yes, you do."

She waves goodbye to Maura, who waits for the next car going down, but inside the tiny space, alone with Frost, he can barely contain his self-satisfaction.

"What?" Jane grouses.

He clasps his hands together in front of him, letting his arms hang loosely.

"Nothin'. You'll be thanking me come Saturday morning."

"I will not!"

"Will too."

"Will not."

"Jane," he turns to her. "Alcohol! Costumes! Hello!"

The doors open on their floor and Jane ushers him out.

"Homicides! Bad guys! _Hello!_"


	9. Chapter 9

When the rain finally stops, it feels like gift from God himself. Puddles had grown into lakes, and sure, there aren't any immediate signs of them receding yet but it's nice to only draw water _up_ for a change. Up from wet pant legs and leaky boots, not pummeled from above too. Days and days of rain, and Jane is ready to stop looking like a wrung-out dishcloth. And happy she can now crack a window, crisp air relieving the apartment of its faintly chemical odor.

"Crap," she mutters, tufts of cotton sticking to her fingers.

It's been years since she last used Elmer's glue, so she forgives herself the mess. She can't, however, ignore the clock staring down at her, reminding her that she is dangerously close to being late. She's agreed to pick up Maura for Frost's Halloween party, and it feels like a date. Although she's not sure. Is it automatically a date if she picks her up? That was not clearly explained in any of the lesbian porno novels.

Ordinarily, Jane would've skipped a costume altogether and told Frost to kiss her grits, but she doesn't want to look like a grouch. She _is_ a grouch, mind you, but she doesn't want to look like one. Not tonight. Maura was so excited about the prospect of dressing up, and Jane doesn't have the heart to leave her hanging. After all, who knows? Maybe this is high school all over again, and the "cool kids" never really dress up, despite claiming all week in study hall that they will.

Jane will not have Maura looking foolish, the only one in costume. No, Jane is taking this courting thing fairly seriously, and that means putting herself in uncomfortable situations. Dating is always miserable, right?

She pulls her hair up in a quick ponytail, yanking out a couple strands as she does so. Glue, hair, and cotton get gruffly ripped from her fingertips before she checks herself in the mirror. Black pants, gray t-shirt. She throws on a jacket for the cool autumn air, but doesn't plan on wearing it long. She'll probably be sweating ten seconds in the door.

Shoving the still-not-quite-dry costume into a plastic bag, she grabs the empty spray bottle from the counter and heads out the door.

"Don't wait up, Jo!" she shouts as the lock clicks into place.

* * *

On Maura's front stoop, Jane appreciates once more the absence of precipitation. She looks up and finds gray clouds wafting slowly through the inky black night sky. It could rain again; she hopes Maura isn't wearing some complex get-up.

While she waits- she heard Maura shout hurriedly through the door that she'll _be right there, gotta find my shoes_- she imagines just what kind of costume the doctor has chosen. Of course, because it's Maura, Jane figures on something elaborate. Ornate, but sexy. Maura's always sexy. Jane secretly prays she resurrects the waitress outfit from Merch while knowing full well that'll never happen.

Not because it's totally slutty, but because Maura never wears the same thing twice. Duh.

Whistling. Jane hears it before she realizes it's her. She's _whistling_. Apparently the prospect of Maura in costume has Jane so thoroughly excited, she's practically skipping around the yard. A devious grin spreads across her face, she shakes her shoulders as the door begins to open, and she greets Maura will a flourish. The possibilities are endless!

"Hey... there."

The "possibilities" are quite dour. The "possibilities" are stark. Austere, even. The "possibilities" have a neckline so high it'd make an Amish butter churner proud.

Jane makes a face.

Luckily, Maura frowns playfully back at her.

"What? You don't like it?"

She fans out the skirting of the long black dress, its Victorian bust buttoned all the way to Maura's chin.

"No," Jane shakes her head, then smiles again. "I mean yes. I just... What are you?"

Maura points at Jane's slouching jeans. "What're _you_? Jane Rizzoli's day off?"

"My costume's in the car. Can't exactly drive in it."

"Oh, okay..." Maura looks towards Jane's car parked on the street. "Shall we?"

"Should I lay down my jacket and let you walk over it, Miss...?"

"Susan B. Anthony! I really thought the hair would give me away."

The prim style is matronly, but with Maura's customary sheen it still manages to look like a Pantene commercial. If Pantene was around in the 1800s.

"Yeah, that was gonna be my first guess," Jane rolls her eyes, and offers the doctor her hand. "So why Susan B. Anthony?"

"Oh Jane, a better question would be why _not_ Susan B. Anthony. She was a fascinating woman. Her writings, her work for women's suffrage..."

She holds open the car door and Maura slips in, but not before squeezing Jane's hand. When their eyes meet, Jane suddenly forgets all about the dowdy costume. Maura's skin is radiant, and her green eyes look dark and mysterious in the overcast haze of the street lights.

"Suffrage? More like suffering. You can't be comfortable in that thing."

Maura waits until Jane climbs in the car beside her before responding. She smooths her hands over the abrupt angle where the dress smothers her ample breast.

"It is a little constricting. You might have to help me out of it later."

Right on cue, the engine stalls. Jane stammers. Fights with the stick shift.

"Uh... wrong... ah..." she mashes the clutch. "There we go."

The car roars back to life, and Maura, with humility befitting her alter ego, says nothing, lips pressed into a tight, knowing smile.

* * *

"Frost!" Jane grabs her partner's arm as he squeezes by, and he smiles at her broadly.

"You made it! Been here awhile? Sorry I haven't said hello."

Frost's small apartment is crowded, music and revelers spilling out onto the slice of balcony overlooking the street. Jane isn't surprised he's got a ton of friends.

"Yeah," Jane nods. "No big deal though. The host is always busy."

He points to her half-empty cup. "You want another drink?"

"I'm good."

"Where's Maura?" Frost swivels his hips, sending the grass skirt he's wearing into undulating fits. "She dress up? Lemme guess... Naughty school girl?"

Jane slugs him in the arm. "In your dreams."

"In _everybody's_ dreams," he shouts over the din of the crowd. "What're you supposed to be anyway?"

Jane looks down at the homemade gray felt poncho draped over her shoulders. It's little more than a square of fabric with a hole cut out for her head, but still she's very proud of it. Impressed that the cotton balls she glued on haven't fallen off either.

"I'm partly cloudy," she deadpans, raising the spray bottle up to Frost's face and pulling the trigger. "With a chance of showers."

He laughs wholly, like he hasn't a care in the world. Sometimes, Jane envies Frost's easygoing personality.

Maura pulls up alongside them, a fresh glass of punch in her hand. The bright pink liquid sloshes dangerously near the rim.

"Barry, what is _in_ this delightfully sweet beverage? It tastes like what I imagine fruit drinks would've tasted like, had I been allowed to drink any as a child."

Jane balks. "It's called Jungle Juice, staple of college frat parties everywhere. It's got Everclear in it and it's probably going to kill you."

"Now, Jane," Frost holds up a hand, his bare chest flexing. The lei of flowers around his head makes it hard to take him seriously. "I don't call it Jungle Juice. I don't like the racial undertones."

"Says the half-naked man, pounding on his chest and grunting."

He looks appalled. "I am a native of the Pacific Island of _Komeoniwannalaya_. We are a proud people," he turns to Maura and bows his head. "And thank you, Doctor Isles. I'm glad you like tonight's signature cocktail."

Jane whispers from the side of her mouth. "Ask her what _her_ costume is all about."

Frost seems to notice Maura's frumpy attire for the first time. He cocks his head to the side.

"Yeah, ah... what's this all about?"

"I'm Susan B. Anthony!" she beams.

He squints, thinking. "Like the coin?"

"No, you idiot!" Jane thwacks him again. "Like the... lady. The lady who did stuff."

Maura finishes her sip with a lick of her lips, the drink giving them a bright pink hue, adorably at odds with her depressing dress.

"You're both right... in some vague way."

"Well listen," Frost hitches his thumb over his shoulder. "I gotta go check out how we're doing on food and make sure things are still flowing. How's the bathroom?"

Maura purses her lips. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

She winces. "It could use a little color. Maybe two sconces on either side of the vanity to lighten it up some."

Jane looks down her nose at the shorter woman, then over to Frost.

"She can't help it. She's not normal." Off Maura's confused look, she adds, "Could use some toilet paper soon, but nobody's passed out in the tub yet."

"Thanks," he snaps his fingers. "Check you guys later, let me know if you need anything. And for god's sake, _dance_!"

Maura claps her hands together. "We could!"

Jane puts her hands over Maura's, tamping down her excitement.

"I got a better idea."

* * *

Out of her costume, Jane fans herself, grateful for the dropping temperatures. She lays the grey, cloud-covered fabric on the grassy slope in front of Frost's building, partygoers' cheers still audible upstairs. Maura gracefully folds the long skirt beneath her before sitting down.

"So you didn't drink Hi-C or Tang," Jane scratches at her chin, suddenly aware of Maura's eyes on her. "Did you at least go trick or treating?"

Maura wavers. "I don't know that you'd call it that. I did get candy. I did dress up. But if I was home, we always had somewhere to be. And if I was away at school, well then we certainly weren't allowed out, parading around town causing trouble."

Jane smiles. "I caused a hell of a lot of trouble."

"You did?" Maura bumps her with her shoulder. "Such as?"

"Goosey night- the night before Halloween? We used to tear up the neighborhood. Nothing too bad, nothing permanent. But we'd use up enough eggs and toilet paper for a small army. Nobody was safe."

"Eggs and toilet paper," Maura sighs. "I probably would've been the one on the receiving end of such treatment."

This makes Jane whimper before she can stop herself.

"Really? I mean, we were tough kids but we never..."

Maura looks at her with one raised eyebrow, not believing Jane for a second.

"Well," she thinks back. "Okay, maybe we did. Tease a few kids or whatever. But it was different then. Besides, it's not like I was Miss Popular myself."

"This isn't a condemnation," Maura smiles now, a soft, understanding nudge. "Things _are_ different now. It used to be you could escape the pointed fingers, the laughs. Seems nowadays kids are inundated. At home, on the Internet. I don't know that I would've survived."

"I would've protected you," she looks down at Maura, who has crept close enough to rest her head on Jane's side. "The Tomboy and the Nerd. We could've been our own clique."

"We would've been formidable," Maura laughs. Meets Jane's stare. Breathes in, her chest expanding between them. "Sometimes I still feel like that lost, lonely adolescent, Jane. Things... things like what happened with Dennis... They make it hard for me to trust myself."

"I know," Jane averts her eyes, and yanks at the wet, cold grass. "Slow and steady. I'm down with it, Maur. I don't want to rush this either."

Turning her face in against Jane's shoulder, Maura's nose squishes at an awkward angle. It makes her voice sound nasally and foreign.

"You could kiss me again, though."

Jane can't believe how much it all feels the same. Her first love, when she was so young and insecure, and Maura. The way she feels about Maura feels so much like the first, best everything, and it's easy to forget she isn't sixteen and clumsy-limbed.

Their eyes meet once more, this time both of them inching forward slowly. First Jane smiles, then Maura bites her lower lip, stifling a grin of her own. When Maura looks pointedly at her mouth, a rush of heat courses through Jane's body.

The kiss is slow but absolutely perfect. When Maura's lips part, Jane's tongue is there fill the space between. Maura sucks and draws Jane in closer, bodily, the whole of her moving to surround her, bare arms sliding over taut black silk.

She holds Maura like this, their lips and tongues dueling, for what feels like forever. Another sensation Jane thought she'd never feel again: the loss of time, the weightlessness of kissing someone and not giving a damn who saw. Maura tastes like fruit punch, and when they separate, it's not the juice that's given her lips a plump, flushed tone.

"I love your costume, by the way."

"You do?" Jane whispers. "It was dumb."

"No, it's clever. And funny. And completely out of left field. Like you."

"Well thanks. I like yours too."

Maura kisses Jane on the chin. "No, you don't. But that's because you don't know the whole story."

"Oh really? What else is there?"

Lacing her fingers with Jane's, Maura breathes sensually into her ear.

"Susan wrote letters to her lover. Her _female_ lover."

"Oh," Jane tries to hide the full-body jolt Maura's words cause. "I see."

"Uh huh," Maura continues. "Slow and steady, you know, doesn't mean you can't come home with me."

Jane swallows.

"I'll get the car."


	10. Chapter 10

**Continuing with theme of "mostly air-able" scenes, integrated into the show we know and love, I present you with the following. I tried to think of what kind of ridiculous shoehorning Janet Tamaro would do to keep our ladies together but apart. And came out with this. I think it's still got some satisfying bite though.**

Cars whizz by, headlights streaking through the darkness, and Jane remembers what it was like to be a patrol cop, pulling people over on this very stretch of urban freeway. It's frightening and exhilarating, the rush of traffic pushing and pulling your body as you teeter precariously on the shoulder. Far more terrifying than any roller coaster, she finds she doesn't miss it at all, despite the adrenaline spike.

"Man, you are lucky, Rizzoli," comes a booming voice from the opposite side of the car. It's disembodied for the moment, but Jane nods anyway. "Halloween night. Shit. One of the busiest nights of the year!"

Jane shouts over the traffic. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I said thank you, didn't I?"

Big Mo's head pops up, his eyes wide and white with jocularity.

"_No,_ matter fact you didn't."

"Well thank you," she exaggerates, arms spread wide. A car shoots down the lane behind her, and her back arches involuntarily. "Thank you very much."

He shrugs, and moves to the tow truck to adjust the winch and chains. "You should hop in the truck with your woman. A white lady getting killed on the side of the highway? I don't have time for that."

"She is not my woman," Jane yells again, this time with a defensiveness that Big Mo can see right through, even in the darkness.

"Yeah, whatever," he laughs. "Were you two out at a Halloween party together?"

Jane fans out the ridiculous gray poncho. "No, I just dress like this for kicks."

"And did you get her drinks, make sure she had a good time?"

She nods, and he pulls off his leather gloves. "And ya'll are headed back to... lemme guess... her place?"

"So what?"

"Then she's your woman. I don't know what you're so ashamed about. It's not like she fell outta the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down. That woman is _fine_."

Jane makes a choking motion with her hands, then realizes she is utterly at Big Mo's mercy, and retracts them.

"It's not that simple."

He shakes his head, then points to the hood of Jane's stalled car.

"It's ready to go," he points his thumb in the air, "You want a ride to HQ?"

"Nah, I got a ride coming."

He groans. "Taxi gonna take forever tonight, Rizzoli. You know better."

"I didn't call a taxi. Damn. Can't you wait just another minute? I don't want Maura standing out here on the side of the road. It's dangerous."

"If she's not your woman, y'all could probably walk down the off-ramp," he looks over the guard rail to the city below. "Catch the T or something."

Jane glares at him, and he cackles like the shit-stirrer he is.

As if on cue, a car approaches from the roadway, slowing dramatically, hazard lights flashing.

"Here she is," Jane waves, holding up one finger. Then she turns to Big Mo. "You mind leaving it down at VMO? I don't know what the hell happened, but this is the second time this car's died on me."

"No problem," he rips a sheet of paper off his clipboard and hands it to her. "Have fun."

The door to the tow truck is heavy and sticks, so Jane has to heave it open with some effort. She nearly pitches herself over the side when it finally gives way.

"Careful Jane!" Maura slings her legs out first, leaving Jane practically standing between her knees, the lights from oncoming traffic illuminating them.

"Get down already!" Jane growls. "You're giving Big Mo a show."

Maura chuckles. "That rhymes."

"C'mon," she takes the doctor's hand and they walk carefully down the gravelly shoulder. "Sorry again about the car."

"It's no problem," Maura shouts perhaps even louder than is necessary. "I really wish you would've let me have a look under the hood."

"Yeah, you're dressed in all black. That would've been extremely smart."

"Good point," Maura crashes into Jane as she stops short near the idling car. "What is it?"

Jane cautiously holds a hand to Maura's hip, aware of the difficulties of conveying something non-verbally even in the best of circumstances. Maura can be brilliantly dense sometimes.

"Let me... handle this?" she tilts her chin towards the car.

Maura smiles broadly. "But of course."

After holding the door open for Maura to climb in the backseat, Jane takes a deep breath and contorts her body into the cramped front passenger seat. She closes the door, her hair blown into her face by the vacuum of air.

"Hi Ma," she grumps dejectedly.

"Oh Janie," Angela coos. "I'm so glad you called. Thank god you two are alright!"

Her mother adjusts the rearview mirror, and Jane slumps against the window. She's a teenager all over again, her _mother_ picking her up from a date. A date her mother isn't supposed to know is a date at all.

This has disaster written all over it.

* * *

"How was Detective Frost's party? Kind of an early night, wouldn't you say?"

Angela speaks only halfway to Jane, the other half gazing in the rearview at Maura. Jane hopes Maura has the good sense to keep it brief.

"We had a lovely time, but we thought we might enjoy a movie or something... _relaxing_ back at home. That is, before the car broke down."

Jane can hear the frown in Maura's voice. She feels like a major amateur, having car trouble on a date. She's fairly certain the men Maura usually dates would never miss an oil change, much less drive a car that would stall out on the damn expressway.

On the other hand, Jane muses, they end up being criminals and psychopaths at a pretty alarming rate. So there's that.

The silence is broken by a surprisingly loud gurgling sound.

"Janie, are you hungry?" Angela reaches across the seat and tickles Jane's stomach, which causes her to both lurch away with embarrassment but also giggle like a schoolgirl.

She quickly reins the latter in.

"A little. I guess."

Angela's hands clap together with enthusiasm.

"We should stop and get burgers at the drive-thru. You know those fun little sliders, the ones with all the onions on 'em..."

Jane's gut reaction is _hell yes_ but she remembers that Maura, with all her foodie hangups, is in the backseat, just an hour removed from a pretty solid makeout session. She can't drop the ball now.

"What are we, high? No thanks."

"Oh come on," Angela angles her body towards the back seat. "It's an old Halloween tradition, Frank and I- God rest his soul- used to take Jane and the boys every year after trick-or-treating."

"_God rest his soul_? He's not _dead_, Ma!"

"He's dead to me. Anyway," she plasters on a large smile, "What do you say, Maura?"

Jane spins around, and mouths a silent apology to the other woman. Maura looks at her with such sympathy, it's hard for Jane not to reach over the seat and kiss her.

"That sounds perfect, Angela. I'd love to."

* * *

Back at Maura's place, the kitchen island is covered in white bags, each splattered with grease. Jane's pulled off her costume and is hunched over in a stool, her socked feet tapping out an impatient rhythm on the bottom rung. Waiting for Maura is torture when there's delicious fatty fast food an arm's length away.

When she hears Maura's footsteps trotting down the stairs, Jane triumphantly stabs the nearest soda with a straw, the plastic lid screeching as it slides in.

"Where's your mother?" Maura's choice of late-evening wear makes Jane audibly sigh. The soft cotton henley hugs her torso like a glove. A sexy, sexy glove. Her pants are loose and low-slung, giving Jane the slightest glimpse of her hip bone.

"Getting into her pajamas." Jane runs a hand through her hair nervously. "Did you have to?"

"Have to what?" Maura looks into one bag and recoils in fear, but then curiously pulls out a single french fry.

"Look all... bed... time... sexy... pants?" Jane's face, she can feel, is contorted in disgust. Not disgust directed at Maura, but disgust with herself. To borrow a phrase from the youngsters, she _can't even_ right now.

Maura laughs it off, and pops the fry into her mouth. She's clearly surprised at how tasty she finds it.

"It will give you the shits, but man, is it good."

Maura looks horrified. All the blood rushes from Jane's face to her feet. She is colorless. Lifeless.

Did she really just say that out loud?

"I mean," she stumbles, "I've _heard_. I've heard it gives you..." There's a technical, far less appalling word for what she's trying to say. She's sure of it. She just has to remember it. "Diarrhea. I've heard that. Somewhere."

That doesn't sound any less disgusting when you actually say it. Jane decides _fuck it_, and clamps her own hand over her own mouth. She can't be trusted right now. Not in the presence of sliders and the reasonable assumption that Maura is not wearing underwear under those pants.

"Too late to put on a movie?" Angela comes sweeping in, blanket over her arm, her pink pajamas buttoned up to the neck. "You girls didn't have to wait for me! Dig in!"

Saved, as it were, by her mother. Jane could count on one hand the number of times she'd ever said that.

"Here," Jane pushes another soda towards her mom, who sits down next to her at the counter. Maura putters around, rifling through the cabinets for plates. "You really don't have to do that, Maur. These babies will be gone in ten seconds."

She shrugs Jane's suggestion off, setting three plates in front of them anyway.

"If I'm going to have gastrointestinal distress, I'm going to have it politely and with class."

Jane smiles at her, impressed at how effectively Maura can put her at ease, despite all the blunders she's made on this night. Maura may be uncertain or uncomfortable trusting her own emotions, but she's very good with Jane's.

"Any cute guys at the party?" Angela asks with a large bite of burger at her lips.

Jane looks at Maura, who looks back at her.

"Ah, no," Jane slurps down a large gulp of soda. "Frost was topless though."

"His pectoral muscles..." Maura shakes her head. "Impeccable."

There's a beat of silence, then both Jane and Angela chuckle lightly.

"Im_pec_cable?" her eyebrows dance. "Get it?"

Jane nods. "We do. We do. That's... your wordplay is... It's very..."

It's kind of arousing, but she sure as shit can't say that.

"It's adorable, Maura." Angela butts in. "You need to find a man who can appreciate your very unique sense of humor. Right, Jane?"

No, not right. Not right at all. But Jane nods instead, and shoved an entire slider in her mouth to prevent anything further from coming out.

"And you, Jane... don't get me started. There's a young man I always see at the cafe, I think his name is-"

"Ma, if I tell you a big, juicy, girly secret, will you shut your trap?"

Angela pretends to be offended, but agrees excitedly. Jane takes a deep, cleansing breath.

"I am seeing someone. But it's new, and we're taking it very slow."

Maura pipes up. "Slowly."

"Thank you, Maura." Jane narrows her eyes, but then returns to her mother. "I don't want to get ahead of myself, but you can quit worrying about me. At least for a little while."

"Jane," Angela grips her soda cup with eager hands. "That's wonderful news! You won't tell me even a little bit about him? Not... one little detail? Keeps an old woman young, you know."

Jane shakes her head, but smiles to keep her mother off the defensive. "I've never been one to gab with my_mother_, Ma. C'mon. But I would like to talk about my relationship with Maura, if that's okay?"

She eyes the door, then her mother, then the door again. Understanding dawns on Angela eventually.

"Ohh, alright," she stands up, giving in begrudgingly. She crumples a fist over one white bag, pulling it to her chest. "Fine, fine. You two girls gossip all you want. But I'm taking these sliders with me to the guest house."

"By all means," Jane waves her hand across the counter. "See you tomorrow?"

Angela kisses Jane on the cheek. "See you tomorrow."

"Thank you again for the ride, Angela," Maura offers, her chin resting in her hand. "Sleep well."

Jane's mother saunters out, closing the door behind her. Maura can barely contain a gasp.

"That was _masterful_!"

Jane struts around to meet Maura's body with her own. "You like that? And did you hear what I did there? '_I'd like to discuss my relationship... with Maura.'_ Pretty smooth, huh?"

The look in Maura's eye is wolfish. "You know how sexy I find wordplay."

They're kissing passionately, but sloppily. Jane's pretty sure she reeks of onion, and Maura's manicure is scraping the hell out of Jane's scalp.

"You know you're going to have to tell her eventually?" Maura pulls away with a snap.

"I know, I know," Jane kisses Maura once more, then guides them both towards the couch. "But can we not ruin this right now? We've had such an awful night..."

"I thought it was fun!" Maura squeaks as Jane lowers her onto her back and crawls on top of her.

"You kidding? My car breaks down. My _mom_ picks us up. Fast food?"

Maura tucks Jane's hair behind her ears and cradles her face with her hands. "It's never too late for your first awkward high school romance."

"That's true," Jane leans down and kisses her mouth again, this time sucking gently at her lower lip. "Do you know how nights like these are supposed to end?"

Maura murmurs against Jane's lips. "Not sure."

"Somebody's supposed to get to second base," she plants a trail of kisses on Maura's neck, letting the full weight of her body press into the other woman. "And then we stop. And we write in our journals about how sexually frustrated we are."

"There's only one problem," Maura pants heavily, her nails now making lighter work of Jane's sides. "I have no idea what second base _is_."

Jane laughs, the slight vibration making her tingle in way she wouldn't mind repeating.

"I'll show you."

She wiggles around a bit, getting comfortable with the arrangement of their lower halves, legs alternating, toes grazing. Each point of contact, aside from their lips, is covered in clothing. That is, until Jane slides a hand up Maura's shirt, caressing the soft skin of her abdomen.

"Oh my," Maura breathes.

"Oh my," Jane teases, her whispered words bouncing back at her. "Technically..."

She moves her hand higher, expecting to find Maura's bra but instead getting an unadulterated handful of her bare breast. Her nipple is hard; her skin is hot.

"Technically," Jane has to repeat herself in order to remember where the hell she was going with it. How had she missed this detail? Could Maura's tits really be so perfect that they bobbed like that without a bra? In her mind, Jane is off skipping down the street somewhere like a smug son of a bitch. "Technically, _this_ is second base."

She massages Maura's breast gently, flicking once over the nipple, eliciting a groan from deep below. Her mouth hovers just over Maura's, and she so desperately wants to bring it down, lower to Maura's chest, and to suck on her. It's something Jane is certain she has never wanted so badly in her life. It's confusing, and wonderful.

Instead, she lets Maura walk her hand up Jane's shirt, twitching a little from the unexpected contact.

"Sorry I still have on my..."

Maura brusquely pushes her hand up the underside of Jane's bra, cupping her breast and pinching. Hard.

"Good god," Jane falls forward, her hips grinding eagerly. "This is better than I ever remember in high school."

Maura purrs beneath her. "Agreed."

"Which means we should probably stop now before we blow our chastity promise."

"Probably."

Jane crawls up to a sitting position and pulls Maura with her. The doctor's hair is mussed, and Jane's sure she looks ragged as well.

Maura's knees bounce anxiously.

"So," she clears her throat. "When exactly can we progress to third base? I've always wanted to know more about baseball."


End file.
